









CLAIBOENE THE EEBEL. 

V. . 

A EOMANCE 


OF 


MARYLAND, UNDER THE PROPRIETARY. 


BY 


riJ- 




|<V^’ 




W: Hf CAEPENTEE. 


“ Where may that treachour, then,” saycl he, “be found; 

Or by what means may I his footing track?” 

Spencer’s Faerie Queene. 


8yp.*.couNon., 

s4.9uftt8Bi,CTiOiJ<. ; .••• 


A’ETC .XARK.; . .. . 


PHILADELPHIA: 212 CHESTNUT STREET. 
WESTERN DEPOT : CINCINNATI, 42 WEST FOURTH STREET. 
BOSTON : S. COLMAN, 30 CORNHILL. 

1845. 






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CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


CHAPTER I. 

It was on an afternoon of a delightful day in the 
summer of IG — , that a horseman, armed at all 
points, and having the precise bearing of one long 
accustomed to military discipline, rode hastily 
toward the little fort of St. Inigoes, and demanded 
instant admittance. After a short parley the draw- 
bridge was lowered ; and the soldier, as if impatient 
of delay, spurred directly into the enclosure, and 
dismounting, inquired for the officer in command. 

“He will be here anon,” said one of the group 
x-'ho had eagerly gathered around the new comer, 
wondering what could have induced his presence, 
and what were the tidings of moment that seemed 
to brook of no delay. 

“ He will be here anon, but ere he greet thee, 
const thou not favor us with the skirt of thy com- 
mission 1 Methinks Anas Todkill plied the flanks 
of his horse with more zeal than befits a peaceful 
rider.” 

“ Thou art right, Tony,” said the Ancient, laugh- 
ing. “ And were I to pro[)hccy a stirring up of the 
lazy blood of these, your fellows — a putting on of 
morion and breast-plate, and a freer acquaintance 
with harquebuss and broad-sword than has been 
their wont of late, my bolt would not fly far from 
the mark. So look well to your defences, my lads ; 
for there are eyes upon you of which you reck not ; 
and hands to work mischief, which, although un- 
seen at present, are not the less busily employed. 
Think ve that bush, or briar, bent my doublet 
thus]”" 

As theMoughty Ancient propounded the question, 
he held up his doublet, which was worn under his 
breast and back-plate, to the view of those around, 
and thus continued, 

“ Thanks to morion and steel-jacket, the arrows 
of the salvages have cost me naught save the mend- 
ing a goodly garment, the cost of which I shall pray 
the Governor to remit me as in duty bound. But 
out upon ye knaves ! Is the flagon broken, and the 
black-jack drained, that you forget a long ride 
makes a parched tongue] Nay; and if such be 
your welcome, I shall crave the next time that other 
messenger than Anas Todkill be sent to those who 
lack that first of soldierly qualities— hospitality to 
a brother in arms.” 


“Cry you mercy, sir]” said Tony, with a depre- 
cating gesture. “We waited but till you had dis- 
burthened yourself of the matters touching your 
sudden appearance among us, or ere now the flagon 
had been at thy lips; and if thy draught were 
worthy of our greeting, it would not be returned us 
undrained.” 

“ Say you so ]” said the old soldier — “ nay, then, 
I confess myself to blame ; lead on, my friend, 
thou wilt find it no small measure that a thirsty 
man like me leaves unfathomed.” 

Without further parley, Tony thrust his arm 
through that of the soldier, and ushered him into 
the guard-room, upon the table of which was placed, 
with all imaginable celerity, a choicer assortment 
of liquids than had ever passed under the surveil- 
lance of the Commandant, or had been guilty of 
paying a fee to the Proprietary. 

The eyes of Anas Todkill glistened as he sur- 
veyed the goodly number of vessels displayed 
before him ; and as he sipped alternately of claret, 
sack, or Canary, with a running commentary upon 
the quality of each, beseemed dubious upon which 
the more particularly to attach himself, until, at 
length, catching the demure expression upon the 
countenance of his host, relieved, as itxvas, by an 
almost imperceptible curl of the lip, and a furtive 
twinkle of the eye, he relinquished his attempt to 
discriminate between the excellence of the potations 
before him, and burst into a loud laugh. 

“Now Mary, Mother ! — that puritanical face of 
thine, Anthony Winton, assures me there are more 
ports of entry than are known to the Lord Proprie- 
tary ; but. Ware hawk comrade, the Governor 
hath a quick eye, and a heavy hand, and it would 
grieve me to see thine hospitality mulcted of the 
presence of such cheer-inspiring friends as these.” 
So saying, he applied himself lustily, and then 
throwing himself back in his seat, he smacked his 
lips, and drawing a long breath, ejaculated an em- 
phatic self-delighted “Ah.” While he is thus 
pleasantly engaged with his own thoughts, it may 
not be amiss to give the reader a slight sketch of the 
worthy personage to whom we have somewhat un- 
ceremoniously introduced him. 

Short of stature, but with a breadth of frame that 
amply compensated for the want of that length of 
limb which would have weakened rather than added 


4 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


to the almost Herculean strength he was known to 
possess. The erectness of his bearing, amounting 
almost to stiffness, bespoke a military education be- 
gun and perfected beneath the eye of a strict disci- 
plinarian. In his younger days he had served 
under Captain John Smith, and, with him, was one 
of the first to explore the wonders of the broad 
Chesapeake, and hold intercourse with the nume- 
rous tribes of Indians whose villages dotted at in- 
tervals either shore of the glorious bay, or might be 
found upon the banks of its less turbulent, but 
equally beautiful tributaries. After partaking of 
the good and evil fortunes of the Colony of Virgi- 
nia for many years, dissatisfied with the manner in 
which the company, upon whom the grant of that 
province was bestowed, had treated his former 
able and energetic commander, he took service un- 
der Leonard Calvert, by whom he was greatly re- 
spected for his soldierly qualities, and the knowledge 
he possessed of the Indian language and mode of 
warfare. 

His face was tanned by exposure and long ser- 
vice, to almost the copper color of the Aborigines, 
although, upon the removal of his morion, the ori- 
ginal fairness of his skin was still visible upon the 
upjjer portions of his forehead. His eyes were 
dark, and possessed a quick and vigilant expression 
— his nose was rather short, with an almost imper- 
ceptible curve at the extremity, indicative of a fund 
of dry humor, which, qualified, as it was, by the 
firmness of the mouth, rendered him entertaining as 
a companion, and equally acceptable as an ally in 
cases of extreme necessity. But the most peculiar 
characteristic of the man was his raoustachios, which 
were sedulously trimmed in a waving line, the ends 
curling upwards toward the outer corner of his 
eyes, and presenting, as a front view, the appear- 
ance of an unstrung Saxon bow; of these he was 
exceedingly vain, and an oath sworn by them, or 
by his beard, a thick, bushy appendage, not un- 
worthy to companion the clothing of the upper lip, 
was held by him as rigidly enjoining a compliance 
in the duties thus undertaken, as the vow of a 
knight of the olden time, made at the shrine of some 
favored saint. 

His dress consisted of a morion, and back and 
breast-platp, beneath which was a green cloth 
doublet with long skirts hanging almost down to the 
knees ; hose of the same material and color, and 
Spanish bulf boots, upon which were fastened a 
pair of spurs, the rowels being of a most formidable 
size. Add to these a steel gorget, a stout leathern 
baldrick slung sash-wise, from which depended a 
heavy sword, and the reader can form some idea of 
his appearance. 

“Good cheer,” continued thcxAncient, after a few 
minutes pause, “good cheer, friend Anthony, 
whether it be of liquids or substantials, hath a mar- 
velous effect upon the humor of a man. It in- 
creaseth wonderfully his estimation of self, and yet 
openeth his heart toward others. It addeth point 
to his wit, if he be ever gifted with any, and fla- 
voreth his discourse if he hath words at command. 
Your lean anatomy may have a subtler thought 
and a readier invention, but thou shalt note him to 
be prone to disaffection, quick and irrascible when 
thwarted, and lacking, in a great measure, the pre- 
servative qualities that balance the temperament of 


one who eateth and drinketh with a zest that laugh- 
eth care out of countenance, and bids sorrow carry 
his rueful visage to him who hath eaten nought 
since yesterday. Now — ” 

It is difficult to say how long the worthy Ancient 
would have gone on moralizing in this strain, as he 
evidently grew warmer with each replenishing of 
the cup, had not his discourse been cut short by 
Tony, who said, 

“Body o’ me, Anas Todkilll how canst thou 
reconcile this, thy doctrine, that pursiness and good 
humor are companions, with the fact that the 
widow Watkins, who is six feet in height, and 
correspondingly propoitioned, broke thy sconce last 
Christmas day, and chased thee from above Thorn- 
ton’s mill, even to the gates of the fort of St. 
Mary’s. — Canst thou solve me this, comrade ?” 

A loud laugh from the rest of the company testi- 
fied the delight they took in seeing the Ancient so 
effectually tasked, and gibes and jests were broken 
upon him from all quarters. He looked puzzled for 
a moment, but not disconcerted. 

“ Why, look ye now, comrades, it was of men 
I spoke — of men, I say — not of women. I will be 
judged by you all, if I said aught of women. Now 
we know that a man’s nature is one thing, and a 
woman’s nature another. Like the labyrinth of 
Fair Rosamond, which the old ballad speaks of, 
winding many ways, and not to be traced out ex- 
cept by one who holds the clew ; so that the ex- 
ample of the widow Watkins hath no effect here. 
That I was beaten by the widow I confess, but the 
morrow brought with it a loving reconcilement; 
although since that time I have prudently worn 
morion and breast-plate while visiting, lest she be 
tempted to put my manhood to the proof, by a repe- 
tition of her Christmas outbreak.” 

“ Tut, ancient, thou shouldst not blame her for 
that,” said Launce Gooden, a tall, lank-haired sol- 
dier, with a hatchet face. “ When we besiege a 
garrison we must expect a sally. There is little 
honor in capturing a foe that makes no resistance; 
and wouldst thou have had the widow surrender at 
discretion almost before the first trenches were 
opened ? Had my Deborah,” here he prudently 
lowered his voice — “ had my Deborah been thus 
easy of conquest, I had not w'illingly linked hands 
with her in Holy Church.” 

“Thou art a tall man, and a wise, Launce 
Gooden,” said the Ancient, patronizingly, “ But it 
is shrewdly whispered that with thee the order of 
warfare was reversed — the besieged becoming be- 
sieger ; and I have heard it said that the arguments 
inducing thee to submit, were of the same weighty 
character that broke my sconce, though, unlike thee, 
they failed in taking me captive.” 

Launce Gooden heaved a profound sigh, and 
looked out at the guard-room window. At the 
same instant a message from Captain Trevor sum- 
moned Todkill to his presence. 

A protegee of the Governor’s, Sidney Trevor, 
had, from his youth, enjoyed his especial favor and 
protection. The modesty of his deportment, joined 
to a natural ease and gracefulness of manner, had 
gained him the warm friendship of the principal 
inhabitants of the colony, while his untiring zeal in 
all matters appertaining to the profession of arms 
had obtained him the appointment to a post of the 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


5 


utmost importance to the security of the settlers. 
Brave, handsome, and accomplished, there was 
more than one fair maiden whose heart beat more 
rapidly at his approach, and whose lip quivered 
with suppressed emotion yvhen the safety of the 
colony required he should go forth against the ma- 
rauding Indians, or repress those more dangerous 
commotions which sometimes roused a portion of 
the less enlightened colonists to rebel against the 
mild rule of the Lord Proprietary. 

His personal appearance we have already hinted 
as prepossessing in a singular degree, and it was 
enhanced by the picturesque costume then gene- 
rally worn. His fine face was shadowed by a 
broad Flemish hat of light color and texture, looped 
in front, and fastened by a silver button. His hair 
was dark, and hung in curls upon his shoulders. 
His eyes were of that indescribable color which is 
neither blue, nor grey, yet partaking of both, and 
acquiring a greater earnestness of beauty by the 
union. His upper lip was shadowed by a delicately 
penciled moustache, while, after the fashion of that 
period, a short, peaked beard graced his chin, and 
redeemed the fairness of his countenance from the 
charge of effeminacy. 

His dress consisted of a buff coat, richly em- 
broidered with silver lace — the sleeves large and 
loose, and slashed up the front — a falling band of 
the richest lace, with Vandyke edging, covered his 
collar, and about his waist was encircled a light 
blue satin sash, fastened in a bow behind, so as 
neither to incommode the rich baldrick that was 
slung over the right shoulder, or the Spanish rapier, 
which it was intended to sustain. 

Trevor welcomed the old Ancient with a cordi- 
ality that evidenced how much he appreciated his 
humble worth ; while on the part of Anas, the grati- 
fication he felt at the respect shown him by one to 
whom he was attached, was chastened, and partly 
subdued, beneath the rigid deportment of the soldier 
towards his superior officer. 

The young commander was evidently affected by 
the perusal of the despatch presented by Anas, 
though he attempted to cover his perturbed feelings 
by addressing his companion in a half jocular man- 
ner, singularly contrasted by the closing portion of 
his speech. — “ So, my old friend, it ajipears from 
the Governor’s missive, that a portion of our colo- 
nists have thriven so wonderfully in this, their new 
home, that they wax haughty and plethoric, to the 
manifest injury of their own best interests, and the 
endangering of the just rights of the Lord Proprie- 
tary. How sayst thou — dost deem the art of the 
chirurgean necessary 1 will there be blood-letting I 
Pray Heaven, the patients put not our lancets to 
the proof, — what is thy thought 1” 

The Ancient stood for a few moments gazing ab- 
stractedly upon the ground, and when he spoke, 
the words seemed to flow from him more in the 
manner of an unconscious soliloquy, than as if in 
reply to the question of the officer. 

“ The workings of a man’s mind, like the labors 
of the mole, can only be known by what is thrown 
upon the surface ; though we are even then puz- 
zled to ascertain whether he be penetrating deep, or 
whether his course be merely tortuous. 

“ Captain Trevor, thou wilt pardon me when I 
aver that I fear the present commotion as one of 


greater danger than has yet befallen the colony. 
There are more tokens, such as 1 have seen many 
years ago among the settlers of Virginia, whereby 
nearly the whole community experienced death at 
the hands of the subtle salvages, or sickness and 
starvation through their own dismemberment; and 
it was only by the mercy of God, and the valor of 
Capt. John Smith, that the poor remnant were re- 
deemed from their sufferings and restored to com- 
parative security.” 

“These are dark bodings,” said the young man 
gravely. 

“ I marvel not,” replied the Ancient, “ that at 
thy years they are deemed so. Youth, in the 
strong lustihood of his own powers, fears neither the 
thunder cloud above his head, or the mine beneath 
his feet; but looks as undauntedly at the one, and 
treads as firmly the other, as if the cloud held no 
destroying lightnings in its bosom, and the earth hid 
not the instrument of certain annihilation — but 
gray hairs, sir, bring with them a clearer vision, 
and a soberer reflection ; and while they take 
nothing from the true courage of our earlier days, 
they so temper it with prudence, that we are ena- 
bled to avoid the evils rashness would sustain, and 
achieve victories where courage without forethought 
would suffer defeat.” 

“ But,” said Trevor, falling in with the mood of the 
ancient, “ but the elastic power that enables youth 
to rise superior to misfortune, is surely equal to the 
cold prudence that teaches him to avoid it. The 
green leaves of our forest trees in early summer may 
be shaken, but not detached from the bough, while 
those of yellow autumn are scattered abroad at the 
first blast of the north wind.” Suddenly changing 
the subject, he continued, “ But you were speaking 
of tokens — of what kind are they 1” 

“The salvages are up in arms.” 

“Nay, I fear not them — a few discharges of 
powder and they will disperse like deer before the 
hunters.” 

“ Thou knowest them not — thou knowest them 
not,” said the Ancient, earnestly. “They are not 
the men that first disputed our passage up the 
Chesapeake ; they have learned since then that an 
arrow sent truly home is of equal effect with the 
harquebuss, and they dread neither the noise or the 
flash as they did when I was first captived by those 
of the Eastern shore — besides, there be many 
among them who have adopted our own weapons, 
and though I say not that they be skilled in their 
use, yet the more intimate knowledge of their na- 
ture hath led them to fear them less. Wherefore, 
I pray thee, esteem them not unworthy foes, lest they 
betray thee to thine own dishonor. But they are 
also bolder than is their wont, which leads me to 
suspect they are aided and abetted by some of the 
disaffected from the isle of Kent — men of our own 
race and color; shame befal them that they should 
be so — yet I forbear to say I speak this of my own 
knowledge, lest I do injury thereby to some who 
may think it foul scorn to league with the heathen 
against their own brethren.” 

“I was told you were assaulted by the Indians 
on your way here. Was this truel” 

“A mere passing salute,” said the Ancient, good 
humoredly,“ though they claimed a closer acquaint- 
ance with my doublet than I hold to be altogether 


6 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


consistent with fair courtesy. But, Mas ! I ha’ done 
the same thing in my young days, when, with a 
party of rude roistering blades, we have swaggered 
down East chepe, frightening the flat cap citizens 
with the show of our drawn rapiers, and making 
the streets echo with the war-cry of the apprentices. 
Ah, me I those were wild days, Capt. Trevor; and 
I was a gallant then that feared no more the club 
of an apprentice, than the kiss of a blue-eyed 
wench.” 

Whether the officer had listened to the closing 
portion of Todkill’s speech has not been recorded, 
though it would appear as if his thoughts had been 
engaged on other matters, from his suddenly say- 
ing,— 

“ Ancient, we must to St. Mary’s to-night.” 

“ I am ready,” was the prompt response, and the 
garrulous old man was instantly changed into the 
active soldier. 

“ ’M’is well ; look to the girths of the horses, and 
see that your arms be ready for instant service ; in 
a few minutes I will join you.” 


CHAPTER II. 

Before proceeding any further in our narrative, 
it may perhaps be as well, for the better elucidation 
of what follows, to lay before the reader a brief 
statement of the affairs of the colony, previous to 
the period at which our tale commences. 

Maryland, founded in 1633, by Sir Cecilius Cal- 
vert, from the extraordinary nature of its charter, 
the religious tolerance extended to all comers, and 
the mild and equitable regulations instituted for the 
purpose of securing equally the rights of the settlers 
and the privileges of the Lord Proprietary, presented 
to emigrants far greater inducements to make it 
their future home, than any other portion of the 
continent. The sway exercised by the governor 
was almost paternal in its character, it being his 
constant aim to preserve concord among the colo- 
nists, preforing to settle differences of opinion, and 
even grave questions, by the force of his own per- 
sonal appeal to the vanity, the good sense, or the 
interest of the parties concerned, rather than by 
resorting to those vigorous measures which, how- 
ever efficacious they might have been in putting an 
end to the difficulties, would have rendered him 
more feared than beloved. 

Yet, while thus attentive to the welfare of those 
beneath him, he did not neglect to take such mea- 
sures for the security of his own rights, as the ex- 
penses attendant upon the settlement of the colony, 
the individual labor it had cost him to mature its 
plans, and the liberality of the charter justified him 
in doing. 

Under the fostering care of such a governor, 
Maryland soon gave promise of the prosperity she so 
rapidly attained; and had it not been for the am- 
bition of one man, she might have experienced 
uninterrupted peace for many years, and her founder 
have been gathered to his fathers without having 
had his last days saddened by the evil doings of the 
factious, or the intolerance of bigots. 

William Claiborne, emphatically called “The 
bane of the colony,” was the first man to question 


I the jurisdiction of Lord Baltimore over a certain 
portion of Maryland, although it was evidently in- 
cluded in his grant. 

Claiborne was a man of restless intriguing disposi- 
tion, who, having received a license under the royal 
sign manual, to traffic with the various tribes of 
Indians along the coast, had taken possession of an 
island in the Chesapeake Bay, which he christened 
Kent Island, and where he refused to yield obedience 
to Lord Baltimore, receiving countenance and en- 
couragement to hold out from the council of Virginia, 
who, with a narrow spirit, unworthy of a people 
speaking the same tongue, were jealous of the prox- 
imity of the new comers, alleging that the grant of 
the Virginia company was infringed upon by the 
Marylanders, and claiming Kent Island from the 
fact of burgesses having been sent thence to James- 
town to represent it in council, previous to the 
coming of Sir Cecilius Calvert. 

Thus supported by the council of Virginia, whose 
secretary he was, Claiborne for a long time con- 
tinued to dispute the right of Maryland to the island, 
and not only prepared to resist, by force, any at- 
tempt to take possession, but, by way of bravado, 
actually fitted out several boats for the purpose of 
cruising against the colonists, and keeping them in 
a constant state of agitation and alarm. 

As prompt to restrair* oppression as to enforce 
obedience, the governor authorized Captain Corn- 
wallis to proceed forthwith to Kent Island and put 
down the insurgents by force of arms, which com- 
mand was fulfilled; the colonists losing only one 
man, while several of Claiborne’s party were killed, 
and the leader, one Captain John Ingle, taken pris- 
oner, and subsequently executed. Claiborne him- 
self escaped, but his estates were seized and for- 
feited, and he himself found guilty of murder, 
piracy, and sedition. 

But, whatever might have been the evil qualities 
of this adventurer, his career seems to have been 
marked by an indomitable spirit of perseverance, 
and a stubborn determination to recover the pro- 
perty he had wilfully lost; for we shortly afterwards 
find him in England, where, patronized by Sir Wil- 
liam Alexander, and sustaining his cause by a tissue 
of falsehoods, he so far interested the facile Charles 
in his behalf, as to obtain from him an order to 
Lord Baltimore, commanding him to reinstate Clai- 
borne in his possessions. 

'rhis, however, the former evaded doing until he 
had laid a full statementof the case before the Lords 
Commissioners, by whom, after a considerable length 
of time had elapsed, the right of the Proprietary to 
the land in question was sustained, and Claiborne 
cut off from any further appeal, except such as he 
might choose to make to the laws, for injuries com- 
mitted. 

From this time henceforth, Claiborne sought, by 
every means in his power, to bring trouble upon 
the colonists. Gathering around him a band of 
disaffected men, he kept the attention of the gover- 
nor continually on the alert, and materially affected 
the prosperity of the settlement. 

Keeping himself, however, carefully aloof from 
the scene of controversy, it was not always that he 
was even suspected to be the instigator of the feuds 
that would, at intervals, disturb the peace of the com- 
munity. Not that he feared sharing thedortunes of 


CLAIBORNR THE REBEL. 


7 


those whom he incited to rebel — for he was natu- 
rally of a fierce and ardent temperament — but be- 
cause he knew that while the head of a conspiracy 
remains unknown, the fears of those against whom 
it is aimed, will magnify the extent of the danger, 
from the mystery in which it is involved. 

The Indians were also used in his hands as instru- 
ments of vengeance. Crafty, as well as bold, he flung 
himself among them, and by a seeming honest zeal 
for their welfare, he wrought them to believe that the 
Marylanders were neither of the same creed or na- 
tion as those of Virginia, — but were allied, as well 
in religion as in blood, to the Spaniards, of whose 
excesses and cruelties upon a distant portion of the 
continent, many years before, they retained a dim, 
confused, and therefore more fearful remembrance. 

Another, and equally powerful agent employed 
by Claiborne, was the religious differences which 
had begun to develope themselves among the new 
comers. Many of these were men who, for their 
bigoted opinions, had been ejected from other set- 
tlements, and who now sought, under the tolerant 
sway of Lord Baltimore, to obtain that paramount 
influence which had been denied them elsewhere. 
Add to these, a set of loose livers, self-exiled 
from their native country, to whom restrictions 
were as curbs to unbridled appetites, and the reader 
can form a pretty fair estimate of the state of parties 
at the time of which we are writing. 


CHAPTER III. 

The evening had well set in, before Trevor and 
his companion rode out from the palisades that sur- 
rounded the fort. Aware of the necessity of guard- 
ing against surprise, the former, in person, super- 
intended all the preparations necessary to frustrate 
such a result, and it was not until he had seen his 
little garrison placed in such a state of defence as 
he deemed would enable it to resist any commoir 
assault, that, bidding adieu to Anthony Winters, 
with many injunctions as to the exercise of proper 
caution, and the strict performance of military duty, 
he sprang to his saddle, and proceeded on his 
journey. 

For a considerable length of time, neither of the 
horsemen seemed disposed to break the silence, but 
each, busy with his own thoughts, pressed forward 
toward the town of St. Mary’s. The reflections of 
the voung officer were of a mixed character. Ac- 
customed of late to a life of inaction, he revolved in 
his mind, with the eagerness natural to his years, 
the prospect of more active service ; while the feel- 
ings of the man, combatting those of the soldier, 
deprecated the miseries which a portion of the colo- 
nists must sustain, coupled with the sacrifice of 
human life, so inevitably consequent upon a resort 
to arms. Reminiscences of a softer complexion 
brought with them anxiety for the safety of one to 
whom he was attached, for he knew that others had 
cast wistful glances upon the lily of St. Mary’s, and, 
that one of them at least, would not hesitate to take 
advantage of any commotion, provided he could 
thereby work out the fulfilment of his own wishes. 

The cogitations of the Ancient were less profound, 
and related more immediately to the present than 


the future. He had been industriously W'atching 
the threatening appearance of the heavens. 7'he 
evening was close and sultry, and large heavy 
masses of black clouds were rapidly obscuring the 
few stars that yet remained in the firmament — the 
wind that had hitherto slept, now stirred the leaves 
of the trees in fitful gusts, and had that fresh, damp 
inexplicable feeling, which invariably betokens a 
storm. Todkill having formed his conclusions, 
made no hesitation in rousing his fellow-traveler 
from the reverie into which he had fallen. 

“I crave pardon, Captain Trevor,” said he, “but, 
’an thou lovest a dry doublet better than a drenched 
skin, I would advise a more liberal use of the spur 
than we are wont to bestow upon a good horse in 
favorable weather. The rawness of the air, and 
the heavy rack flying athwart the sky, are prophets 
which speak as plainly and assuredly of a coming 
tempest, as any visible signs can foretel a future 
event. Now, to my mind, a cup of burnt sack, or 
a flagon of nut-brown ale, within the shelter of the 
Fort of St. Mary’s, hath a pleasanter relish than 
threading the gloomy forests of this heathenish 
land, with the rain and the wind fiercely beating 
upon you, and the chance of a salvage’s arm ever 
and anon trying the rivets of your breast-plate. I 
am one who, when snugly housed, likes to hear 
the pattering of the rain against the casement, and 
the whistling of the wind as it struggles through 
the far-ofi’ pine trees. There is a sense of comfort 
in being so conditioned, which enableth us to com- 
ment complacently upon what is passing without, 
secure from the inconveniences to which others are 
exposed.” 

Acquiescing in the suggestions of the Ancient, 
Trevor increased the speed of his horse, an example 
promptly followed by the old soldier. The necessity 
of their haste became every instant more apparent. 
The sky presented now one perfect sheet of black- 
ness, and large rain drops came pattering among 
the leaves. 

Trevor almost regretted he had not remained at 
St. Inigoes until the morning, though less on his 
own account than upon that of the ancient, at 
whose age he feared more serious consequences 
might ensue than the mere inconvenience of wet 
garments. But Anas Todkill, whatever he might 
have previously said in regard to his preferences, 
laughed away the apprehensions of the young offi- 
cer, assuring him that years had not sensibly dimin- 
ished his physical powers, and that his capabilities 
of endurance were at least equal to those of his 
more juvenile fellow-traveler, a fact which he fully 
proved before they gained the town of St. Mary’s, 
as will be seen in the sequel. The broken nature 
of the road they traversed, and the stumps of trees 
which still thickly studded the way, compelled them 
to proceed with greater cautiousness than agreed 
with their anxiety to reach the point of destination ; 
an act of prudence to which Trevor refused to listen, 
until he had been repeatedly admonished by the 
stumbling of his steed, that a perseverance in his 
present rapid gait would not only endanger the 
limbs of the faithful quadruped, but also the life of 
his rider. 

The storm had burst in all its fury — the wind 
swayed the trees of the dense forest to and fro, until 
they creaked and groaned as with a human agony. 


8 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


But from the plare of the vivid lightning, awful as 
it was, and instantly succeeded by the crashing i 
thunder, they experierued some solare, inasmuch | 
as it served to cast a strong light upon their path, j 
and enabled them, in this at least, to preserve the 
correct route, which, from the blackness of the 
night, it would otherwise have been difficult for 
them to have kept. 

Amid the torrents of rain, and the numerous ob- 
stacles that beset the perplexed travelers, the ancient 
preserved the most imperturbable equanimity of tem- 
per — once only was his patience in any degree ruf- 
fled, and then it arose from a rather singular cause 
— his mustachios had got wet, and the ends hung 
draggling on either side of his mouth, giving a most 
wo-begone expression to his weather-beaten fea- 
tures. 

“ Now, Mary Mother,” said he, as he felt the rain 
drip from these favorite appendages, “ I had rather 
have lost a pottle of the best Canary than that my 
face should suffer this disarray. My upper lip is sod- 
den, and the water runneth down to the peak of my 
beard in a continuous stream. Well, well, Saunders 
Clipton, the barber, shall manifest his skill betimes 
in the morning, so that the good folks of the town 
behold not my hair thus matted about me, like the 
shaggy hide of a half-drowned shepherd’s dog, ere 
he shakes himself in the sun.” Consoling himself 
with this reflection, he regained his good humor, 
and, shortly afterwards, said to Trevor, in a gayer 
tone, — 

“Grammercy, Captain Trevor, but it would be 
a memorable sight to be one in a charge of cavalry 
amid such a pitiless tempest as this, with the mud 
splashing your very corslet — the rain pelting your 
body, and the lightning playing about yeur head, 
and mingling with the gleam of weapons and bright 
armor, while the roar of the artillery mimicked the 
deafening roll of the thunder. By my beard ! it 
would be a scene worthily remembered — would it 
not, sirl” 

“ Why, to my poor thinking, good Ancient, the 
noise of the strife would be lost in the contention 
of the elements, and the wild rapture that you deem 
would fill the looker on, would be checked by the 
grave comparison between human and superhuman 
force ; proving how very limited is the power of the 
one, when placed in direct contrast with the om- 
nipotence of the other.” 

“ Thou art right, sir,” replied the Ancient, “ and 
yet,” he added, with a light laugh, “ I will v/ager a 
gold piece that a wet doublet hath taught thee this 
wisdom, for thy feelings are usually more ardent 
than is consistent with cool philosophy. Well, 
thou wilt learn gravity anon, and it were better it 
should be taught by a wet doublet, than by things 
more grievous to be borne. I have seen jpany 
changes in my time, and have met with many re- 
verses ; and there was one deep, stunning blow, 
which — tut, tut, I commenced to laugh at thee and 
have almost become sad myself — well, well, I ha’ 
done” — and the old soldier sunk into a reverie, from 
which he was only roused at limes by the necessity 
of his watching the flash to enable him to keep the 
road. The route gradually became less difficult, 
patches of cleared ground now sometimes opened 
upon them, though they were still at a considerable 
distance from any habitation. The storm, however, ' 


[ had abated but little of its strength, though for this, 
I the travelers, being thoroughly drenched, cared but 
I little. Descending the hill, they approached the 
j only point in their journey at which the sagacious 
ancient anticipated any difficulty. The road, as 
they proceeded, assumed again an irregular and 
broken character, leading into a ravine of some ex- 
tent, where, from the nature of the ground, the way 
was so narrow as to barely admit two horsemen 
abreast ; while, to add to its danger, the thick un- 
dergrowth on either side made it a safe and almost 
impenetrable lurking place for a savage enemy. In 
fact, they had now arrived at the spot where the 
ancient had met with so uncourteous a reception 
during the earlier part of the day, and the old soldier 
knew the Indians too well to feel perfectly satisfied 
that the ambush was even yet deserted. Commu- 
nicating his apprehensions to his companion, Trevor 
was not slow in following the example of Todkill 
in looking that his arms were in readiness in the 
event of an assault. 

Anxiously, and yet steadily, the two soldiers pur- 
sued their route. Todkill peered through the dark- 
ness, vainly endeavoring to discover anything that 
might give him a token of the presence of a foe, 
and he had at length become so far satisfied that 
the way was clear, as to suggest to Trevor the pro- 
priety of dashing forward at full speed, so as to pass 
as early as possible a neighborhood so dangerous, 
when a vivid flash of lightning illumining the way, 
discovered that at the lowest part of the ravine, 
where a common wooden bridge, consisting of a 
few rough planks, had been thrown over a deep but 
narrow gully or water course, a tree had been felled 
across the road, and, as he conjectured, the bridge 
itself removed. Suddenly arresting the arm of 
Trevor, who, having seen the obstacle, was about 
to push on at all hazard, he whispered — “ Be not 
rash, sir, the road is blocked ; there is no hope but 
in returning.’’ 

“ That will I not,” said Trevor; “ are you a good 
rider. Ancient ?” 

“ So men tell me.” 

“ Then let us put spurs to our horses, and leap 
the barrier at full speed, fortunately the trunk of 
the tree is not high, and the water course beyond is 
but narrow. By calculating our distance, we may 
suddenly clear it, and bid defiance to any foes who 
may be lurking near.” 

The Ancient rapidly revolved in bis own mind 
the chances of success, and then said, in evident 
admiration — “That was the counsel of a gallant 
spirit, we will try it; but suppose we fail — are 
beset 1” 

“ We can fight,” replied the young officer, calmly, 
but resolutely. 

“ Aye, marry, can we ! — I like it, sir ; my old 
blood is warming again. Let us on.” 

With a recklessness which could only be justified 
by the extreme nature of the emergency, the two 
soldiers galloped furiously down the hill, and almost 
simultaneously charged the barrier. Trevor alighted 
safely on the other side ; but his companion, either 
from miscalculating the distance, or from some fault 
ii) his horse, struck the opposite bank, and was 
thrown sprawling to a considerable distance. Im- 
j mediately a wild, deafening yell rose upon the air, 
and a dozen dark bodies rushed from the thicket on 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


9 


either side, so as to surround the fallen man. The 
Ancicn thad already made up his mind to a despe- 
rate struggle ; so gaining his footing, with the 
quickness of thought, he grasped the foremost In- 
dian by the throat, and by continually shifting his 
position, kept him for a short time as a shield 
against the attack of others, but this could not have 
lasted long. His defensive armor had already saved 
him from the consequences of more than one well 
aimed blow, when the voice of Trevor, who had 
sprung into the midst of the melee, and was dealing 
about him v/ith such hearty good will, as quickly 
released his comjranion from two of his most for- 
midable assailants, encouraged the Ancient to at- 
tempt to relieve himself by one sudden and resolute 
movement. Taking advantage of the momentary 
panic induced by the onset of Trevor, he disengaged 
his hands from the neck of his adversary, and sud- 
denly clasping him round the waist, he hurled him, 
by dint of main strength, into the gully alongside. 
Thus freed, he drew his sword, and parrying the 
thrust of an Indian, with “ Ha, knave,” sprang for- 
ward a short distance, seized the bridle of his horse, 
leaped to the saddle, and then turned to the work 
before him with double earnestness. The pistols 
of both were found to be useless from the rain ; so 
disregarding that arm, he drew his sword, and 
attempted a diversion in favor of his young and 
resolute deliverer, — and well it was he did so ; for 
Trevor, by whose well-timed aid the life of the 
Ancient had been most probably saved, was now in 
imminent peril. One arrow had already pierced 
the fleshy part of his left arm, and being more ex- 
posed by the absence of breast-plate and morion 
than his companion, he experienced greater diffi- 
culty in defending himself from the attack of the 
savages. Two of them at this juncture seized the 
bridle of his horse, while others had closed around 
him, and were letting fly their arrow’s, which the 
darkness of the night alone prevented from doing 
any material injury ; but one more daring than the 
rest, clambered up behind the young officer, and 
with a shout of triumph swung his tomahawk above 
his head. That shout was his last, for the heavy 
sword of the Ancient descended in the darkness, and 
came crashing through his skull to the very shoul- 
der. In another instant he was among the rest, 
cutting and thrusting to the right and left, wherever 
a shadowy form was to be seen ; crying, first to 
one, “ Out on thee, wouldst thou assault a Christian 
man V ’ — to another, “ Here is a token for thee,” — 
to a third, “ Well aimed, by my beard ; imp of ma- 
heund, is not a broadsword sharp 1 Cheerly, cheer- 
ly. Captain Trevor,” continued he, as the remainder 
of their foes retreated to the bushes, “ the heathenish 
scoundrels have yielded us the victory; let us on, 
and be thankful that it hath been only child’s play, 
after all.” 

“ Child’s play, call you itT’ said Trevor, as he 
put spurs to his horse, “ now, by my troth, good 
ancient, it has been rough pastime for well tried 
manhood. That the adventure was a perilous one, 
you must acknowledge. Come, confess now.” 

“ Now, shame on thee, to take an old man at a 
vantage thus. Well, well, I own that — that — what 
shall I say 1 That we have encountered more dan- 
ger than we had been likely to encounter over a cup 
of ripe Canary, at mine host’s of the Red Lion ; 


nay, further, I admit, trusting thou wilt deem it no 
impeachment of my valor, that there was a quicker 
pulse at my heart, as if all the blood in my old body 
was gathering about that region ; but, sir, though 
death and I have looked each other in the face more 
than once, mine eyes have never yet quailed beneath 
his glance.” 

“ Ancient.” 

“ Sir]” 

“ Did you hear, during the fray, any other voice 
rising above the yells of the savages, and uttering 
words in our own tongue]” 

“ Didst thou, sir ] So then mine ears have not 
deceived me. Aye, marry did I, sir, and though I 
caught not the words, I could swear the voice was 
that of an Englishman.” 

“ And I, — what think you of it ]” 

“ Even as I told thee at the fort, that there are 
forces at w’ork, of which we reck not. Traitors, 
like miners, labor not in the face of day, and the 
knowledge of their doings oft-times only comes with 
the explosion that annihilates. What we have seen 
must be made known to the governor, so that his 
wisdom may devise such means for the security of 
the colony as best befits the present emergency.” 

The travelers had scarcely proceeded a mile 
further upon their journey, before the storm began 
to subside. The stars were now to be seen at inter- 
vals, as the broken clouds dispersed from before 
them, and scudded across the sky, and when the 
moon also shone from betwen the dark flying rack, 
the wet and jaded horsemen turned with some 
curiosity, to look in each others’ face, as if to scan 
upon whom the previous events had wrought the 
most damage. 

“ Holy mother !” exclaimed the Ancient, as he 
noted, for the first time, the' red stains that had clot- 
ted upon the doublet of Trevor, — “Holy mother, 
thou art bleeding !” 

“ ’Tis nothing — a mere scratch — it will be well 
on the morrow.” 

“ A mere scratch, sayest thou ]” responded the 
Ancient, applying his lips to the wound, “ these 
salvages’ arrows are not the safest things in the 
world for a man to deal with, and prudence should 
teach us to guard against their eft’ects. I know not 
if these men poison their shafts, as is the case of 
those nations farther south. I have met with several 
arrows thus treated in my jorneyings up the Pata- 
womek, though I am inclined to believe they were 
brought thither by messengers from a far-off 
country, of whose marvelous beauty they reported 
such things as passeth my power to repeat. Keep 
thine arm thus — so — now lend me thy scarf.” 

“ Will not my kerchief do]” said Trevor, with a 
slight blush. 

“ Ho ! ho ! a love token !” said the Ancient 
laughing. “ Nay, then, thy kerchief. Ha ! hault ! 
Who goes there ]” This was said to a horseman 
closely wrapped in his cloak, who dashed by at full 
speed. 

“ By 6St. Mary, ’tis Clairborne himself— seize 
him : seize him !” exclaimed the young officer, as he 
recognized the rider. “ Spur for your life, ancient, 
his capture is worth a hundred pounds — on man, 
on !” 

“Wouldst thou rush into fresh dangers ]” said 
the Ancient, arresting the horse of his companion. 


10 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


“See, he has taken to the woods, and thou canst 
only track him by the crashing of the dry branches ; 
besides, how knowest thou that there be not an 
ambuscade laid purposely to entrap theel No, sir, 
we shall better serve the interest of the colony by 
hastening to St. Mary’s, and putting our citizens 
upon their guard.” 

“ So be it,” said the young man, with a sigh. 

“ To St. Mary’s, though I say to you, I would have 
given a year’s income but for a ten minutes’ bout 
with the traitor, — only ten minutes.” 

iiirn^iLy <ii»u 

CHAPTER IV. 

The city of St. Mary’s, at the period to which 
our tale refers, was a place of considerable impor- 
tance. The tide of emigration had brought with it 
no little wealth into the colony ; not only through 
emigrants of the Catholic religion, but also through 
others of different creeds, who had sought here an 
asylum from the fierce intolerance which character- 
ized so many of the early settlements upon the 
Continent. 

The houses were principally of wood, with their 
fantastic gables fronting upon the streets. Few of the 
dwellings were of more than two stories in height, 
but what added materially to the singularity of their 
appearance, was the fact of the upper stories of 
many of them being built of wider dimensions 
than the lower, so that throughout the greater por- 
tion of the city a person might walk beneath these 
uncouth projections, and find himself comparatively 
sheltered from the effects both of sun and rain. A 
» few mansions belonging to wealthy gentleman, 
friends or relatives of the Lord Proprietary, might 
be seen in different parts of the city, towering 
proudly above their lowlier brethren ; and from the 
thicker cluster of houses around these more impos- 
ing structures, it appeared as if the worthy burghers 
were not insensible of the protection which the 
numerous dependants attached to these strongly 
built edifices could afford in the event of surprise 
by the Indians : for once within the shelter of those 
sturdy walls, they felt assured of safity from any 
force which the savages could bring against them. 

The residence of the Lord Proprietary w'as a large, 
strongly fortified building of dark brick, to which 
additions had been made from time to time, until it 
presented, at various points of view, a succession of 
gables and tall chimneys. Its angular construction, 
however, each angle covering the other, rendered it 
well adapted for defence; and the interior, with its 
tapestried walls, its heavy moulded corners, its carved 
ceilings, it^ polished oaken floors, its dark and massive 
furniture, and its pictures of Vandyke, gave it an air 
of stately opulence worthy of its noble possessor, and 
was well calculated to impress with a mingled feel- 
ing of awe and admiration, the minds of those over 
whom he held supreme jurisdiction. 

To add to its security, the edifice was girt about 
by a broad and deep moat, over which was thrown 
a drawbridge so disposed as to be readily drawn up 
from within, should the walls, which at a distance 
surrounded the whole, be gained by an enemy. 

These walls, of considerable strength in them- 


selves, were flanked by two castellated towers upon 
which were mounted the light ordinance, then called 
Falcons. These latter commanded the gates, fash- 
ioned of stout iron wrought in open work, and upon 
each side were square brick pillars rising above the 
wall itself, and capped by the arms of the family 
cut in stone. 

The space within the walls, and between them 
and the castle, as it was somewhat ostentatiously 
called, formed a green plot, well kept and closely 
shaven, intersected at various points by hard gravel 
walks leading to the offices, the barracks, the private 
apartments, or the gardens in the rear. 

It was on the night upon which our tale coin- 
raences that the tinkling of a gittern, not unskil- 
fully played, mingled with loud and riotous laughter 
and the uproar of voices, attracted more than one 
wayfarer to cross the street leading to the gates 
above mentioned, and tarry for a moment, in despite 
of the rain, to look in at the window ©f the low 
frame house from whence the sound proceeded. 
The interior of the room presented all the appur- 
tenances necessary, in those days, to the profession 
of a barber surgeon. A goodly number of clean 
ewers and napkins were neatly arranged at one 
end of the apartment. Upon the walls were hung 
rude engravings, some plain, and others colored ; 
snatches of old ballads, one or two old fashioned 
metal mirrors, and copies of proclamations issued 
by the governor from time to time, to several ©f 
which had been appended remarks, satirical or com- 
mendatory, according to the humor of the writer. 
Upon a row of shelves facing the door were placed 
casting bottles for holding perfumes of different 
kinds. It was also supplied with combs, brushes, 
shaving boxes, and various uncouth instruments for 
extracting teeth, or the ur.ore delicate operation of 
phlebotomy, an art then much practised at the spring 
season of the year, blood-letting being considered 
by many persons of that era as essential to the 
preservation of a perfect state of health. 

The floor of the room was strewed with rushes, 
stained and disarranged by the influx of customers, 
or others who had here taken shelter from the fury 
of the storm. Those to whom we must now intro- 
duce the reader, consisted of some half dozen 
individuals, elderly and youthful together, not par- 
ticularly distinguished from one another, except in 
the color of the dress ; the fashion of all being alike, 
while the flat cap worn by each bespoke them at 
once as simply citizens of St. Mary’s. 

The master of this establishment, having turned 
over the last customer to a serving man, stood with 
his back towards the ample fire place, laughing with 
the low, timid laugh peculiar to those who feel 
themselves under the domination of females with 
more masculine spirit than their own. He was a 
thin, w'eason-faced man, apparently about forty 
years of age, bald headed, and with an enormous 
pair of round spectacles with broad tortoise shell 
mounting, saddling a prominent nasal organ. 
Quick of ear, retentive of memory, and fluent of 
speech, he caught up all the floating rumors of the 
city, and retailed them, with sundry imaginative 
additions, for the benefit of his visitors. These 
qualities, however much to be deprecated when 
misused, rendered him well adapted to the pro- 
fession he pursued, and recommended him to many 


CLAIBOENE THE REBEL. 


11 


whom the tartness of his better half would other- 
wise have incited to pass x}^ door. 

The tinkling of the gittern and the song of the 
performer had scarce ceased, when the noisy com- 
pany became still louder voiced in their solicitations 
that the song be repeated. 

“ Nay, faith,” replied the young man of whom 
the request was urged ; “ nay, faith, no more my 
masters; indeed I cannot sing more. Here is 
Quiet Waters, who knows a host of songs. He 
can dance Sellinger’s Round to his own music; — 
why cannot he serve your turn 1” 

“ La ! you there, now,” said the sheepish, un- 
gainly individual referred to. “You know, Ralph 
Forster, I sing not ; and as for the gittern, my fingers 
never could compass the instrument. It is true, I 
whistle Sellinger’s Round, and can dance not un- 
gracefully.” 

“Said I not he could dance to his own music V’ 

There was a roar of laughter at Ralph’s witticism, 
part of which was taken as complimentary to him- 
self by the small brained young man, who said — 

“ Assuredly my own whistling is my own music, 
but my dancing was taught me by Amy Roberts, 
who is known to many of you. She lives with 
her aunt Whitaker, as you go round from the 
‘ Three Bills’ toward Thornton’s mill : a brave 
wench and a good is she ; say I not sooth, Ralph 
Forster 1 Well, I wot you know her by the same 
token that I saw last Monday evening by the moon- 
light in the little garden, too ” 

“Hush!” said Ralph, blushing to the eyes, and 
hastily placing his hand before the mouth of the 
speaker, 

“ Ho ! ho ! ho !” roared several of the listeners. 
“ He ! he ! he 1” chimed in the barber, his serving 
man, and Quiet Waters. 

“ Ralph B'orster, Ralph Forster, he has thee now!” 
said a burley citizen with a fair round Saxon face, 
and a merry twinkle in his light blue eye. 

“ Aye, marry have I,” continued the delighted 
Waters ; and I crept behind the hedge and heard — ” 

“ A truce to these fooleries !” interrupted Forster, 
with an impatient gesture. “ Waters is beside him- 
self; he is ever so at the full of the moon. But 
you were asking for a song — you shall have it if it 
be worth your listening.” 

“ Ho ! ho ! ho !” laughed the burley citizen. 
“ When I want a song from Ralph Forster, I will 
get Quiet Waters to repeat what he saw by moon- 
light in the garden.” 

“ An’ he say aught that breathes the slightest 
stain upon the maiden’s purity,” said Forster 
fiercely, “ I will so belabor him with my stall' that 
he will need no second admonition to curb his free 
speech in future.” 

“ Good Ralph! kind Ralph!” cried Waters, re- 
treating in trepidation behind the barber. “ I said 
nothing, indeed I said nothing; drouch me, my 
masters, if I said aught. La ! you there now, to 
be angry at a random shaft.” 

“ Make me not, then, the butt you aim at,” said 
Forster, seriously, as he bent over the gittern, and 
busily employed himself in tuning the strings. 

“Come — come, Ralph,” said a little dark-haired 
citizen in grey freize ; “ come — come, the quarry is 
not worth thy stoop. Unbend thee, man, clear the 
cloud from your brow, and change the downward 
curl of your lip for the round dimple of a smile ; 


we are all friends here — aye, and well wishers, too, 
or I know not who is among us.” 

“ Look ye, Forster,” said the burly citizen. “ In 
my youth I was prone to contentious disputations, 
and although naturally inclined to robustness, I 
became quickly as lean as a shotten herring, or one 
of the kine of Pharoah ; and the more quarrelsome I 
was, the leaner did I get — so, so, ‘ Philip Wharton,’ 
said I to myself, ‘ an’ you mend not your hasty 
mood shortly, you will be but a shadowless two 
pronged anatomy in the face of the bright sun.’ 
And what did I, think ye, to become as I am 1” 

“ Got married,” said Ralph, laughing. 

“ That would not do it, my friend,” said the bar- 
ber, with melancholy earnestness ; “ that would not 
do it. I got married — look at me. Am I of com- 
fortable dimensions I” and he turned his thin frame 
round to meet the gaze of alt. The burly citizen 
continued, 

“ No, Ralph Forster, I reined in my free speech, 
and weighed consequences before I acted. I avoided 
all unnecessary brawls, yet was not slow to resent 
an affront. I looked upon the world, and saw it 
was fair, and I said to myself, ‘surely that which is 
so lovely to the sense, was made for happiness; 
why should not I enjoy itP From that moment I 
changed my humor, looked on the bright parts of 
men’s characters, and shut my eyes against the 
shadows : did I not well ] Men were angry — I 
laughed ; they were foolish — I laughed ; they strug- 
gled ambitiously beyond their strength — I husbanded 
mine, plodded on, and overtook them and laughed- 
I grew pursy as my means increased ; still I 
I laughed on, and I trust I shall bear the same joy- 
ous and even temper through life, come what clouds 
there may.” 

“ Well for Wharton,’ said the barber, mournfully, 
as he surveyed, with a sigh, the goodly proportions 
of the speaker, and then compared them wdth his 
own linten person. 

“ Well for you, good master Wharton, you can 
laugh. I say you are privileged to laugh — you 
have no wife.” 

“ She would not change my nature,” replied 
Wharton, glancing with some contempt upon the 
melancholy barber, “ she would laugh with me — 
but we are loosing time — the song — the song!” 

“Aye, aye!” shouted the others, “ your promise, 
Ralph, the gittern.” 

“ What would ye 1” said Ralph, “ shall I sing 
‘ Balow my Baby,’ ‘The Doleful Lament,’ ‘ The 
Tragical End of Fair Rosamond,’ or ” 

“ None of these, I prythee,” said Wharton, good 
humoredly, “ they have all too serious a vein. Give 
us something lively and strong.” 

“ What think ye of Dickon the Bedlam’s song I” 

“ A good one, and a merry smacking of old 
England and her favorite beverage. Thou couldst 
not choose a better.” 

Ralph played a short prelude upon the gittern, 
and then, in a pleasant, manly voice, sung as fol- 
lows : 

I cannot eat bnt little meat, 

My stomach is not good. 

But since I think thaf I can drink 
With him that wears a hood. 

Though I go bare, take ye no care, 

I nothing am a cold ; 

I stuff my skin so full within. 

Of jolly good ale and old. 


12 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


“ Chorus, my masters, strike up !” and a rude 
chorus was then rattled oft amid shouts of laughter. 
This ended, the singer proceeded : 

I love no roast, but a nut-browni toast, 

And a crab laid in the fire ; 

A little bread shall do me stead, 

Much bread I ne’er desire 
Nor frost, nor snow, nor wind I trow, 

Can hurt me if I would, 

I am so wrapt and thoroughly lapt 
With jolly old ale and good. 

“Up with it again,” and the chorus was noisily re- 
peated in every imaginable variety of time and tune. 

And Tyb my wife, that as her life 
Loveth good ale to' seek ; 

Full oft drinks she, till you may see 
The tears run down her cheek. 

Then doth she trowl to me the bowl. 

Even as a maltworm should, 

And says, “sweetheart I took my part 
Of this jolly old ale and good.” 

“Ha, ha, ha: — Hush! Silence! who are these!” 
cried Wharton, and the merriment of the company 
was suddenly arrested by the entrance of two 
strangers. Of these new comers it will now be 
necessary for us to speak more particularly. 

“ Ho ! there, sir barber !” exclaimed the foremost 
as he entered the room, “ a cast of thine office, and 
quickly ; but first let us see whom we have here.” 
And he deliberately unhooked the cresset that de- 
pended from the ceiling and walked toward the 
citizens, letting the full glare of light fall upon their 
faces. Wharton met the rude gaze of the stranger 
with a slightly contemptuous smile. Quiet Waters 
slunk into a corner and doubled himself up to escape 
observation. Others shrank instinctively away with 
an indefinable fear about their hearts. Forster alone 
stood up undauntedly ; looking boldly into the face 
of the visiter, and grasping a stout oaken staff" 
which his fingers twitched convulsively, as if eager 
to test its qualities upon the person of the gazer. 

“What would you with me, uncivil sir! My 
face hath been looked upon by honest men in the 
broad sunshine, and neither paled nor blushed ; 
seen you treason in it that you peer so earnestly 1” 

“ I cry you mercy, gentlemen !” said the stran- 
ger sarcastically. “ I took you for a parcel of wild 
wassailers, dapper Jacks of the Castle here, whom 
the host of the Bills, or he of the Red Lion, had 
thrust from his doors for utter obliviousness of reck- 
oning. But no ! I find ye are all grave quiet citi- 
zens : all save one-^yoH sir, with the staff'; had 
you a blood-letting in the spring, that you hector 
so loudly !” 

“ What is’t to thee!” exclaimed Forster, spring- 
ing forward and brandishing his weapon. 

“ Ha ! this to me,” said the stranger, seizing his 
up-lifted wrist with a gripe of iron, — “ Lower your 
staff instantly, or by St. Peter thou shall repent it 
in sackcloth and ashes!” 

“ Hold, there !” cried Wharton, walking cooly 
forward. “If you release not Ralph Forster I warn 
you I shall take up my cudgel in his behalf. I 
know not your quality, sir, but we of St. Mary’s are 
ready to defend ourselves from insult against all 
comers, whatever may be their station or degree.” 

“ I was too hasty, my friend — let what has passed 
be forgotten,” said the stranger, biting his lip and 


frowning as he released Ralph. He then turned 
on his heel to rejoin his companion, to whom he 
said in a low whisper, ^ 

“ Ephraim, I like yon fiery whipster, he hath 
the true stamp ; would he league with us think 
you !” ‘ 

'Phe man addressed as Ephraim shook his head 
doubtingly, but whispered something in the ear of 
his companion, who appeared to assent to what 
w-as said ; and then throwing off’ his cloak and hat 
placed himself under the hands of the barber, who 
had hitherto stood a mute and trembling spectator 
of the scene that passed before him. 

Something too, of a vague arid indistinct recol- 
lection of the features of his mysterious visitor, 
seemed to trouble his mind, and he taxed his me- 
mory in vain to recall when or where he had ever 
seen him before. 

The stranger who had thus strongly excited the 
barb<r’s curiosity, was tall of stature, and every 
way well proportioned. In point of years he might 
have nunabered forty-five, but his face, which was 
tanned and wrinkled by exposure, would have led 
a casual observer to state his age at half a century. 
His forehead was high and expansive, and shadow- 
ed by thick clustering locks of light brown hair. 
His eyes w'ere grey and peculiarly keen and pier- 
cing, flashing out as they did from beneath the dark 
pent house of his heavy eye-brows. His nose was 
well formed, and his mouth expressive of great 
firmness ; indeed the latter would have been called 
beautiful anywhere had not an unpleasant down- 
ward curve of the corners marred the finely chisel- 
led outline of the lips. 

There was a lofty bearing about the stranger, 
and the stamp of energetic determination upon his 
weather-beaten features expressive of one accus- 
tomed to command and to be obeyed. But there 
were also harsher lines, blended with those beto- 
kening martial firmness and decision, that over- 
shadowed the more majestic qualities of the man. 
So that an observer noticing those evidences of 
wild ungovernable passions which were then visi- 
bly impressed, while he paid unconscious deference 
to a mind of no common order, would yet hesitate 
to make a companion of its possessor. 

Notwithstanding this, there were many looking 
not so deep into character who willingly sought to 
do him service. Gay roisterers and penniless ad- 
venturers, with whom he was hale-fellow, and who, 
reverencing him for his war-like accomplishments, 
were yet still more attached by the hope that his 
restless and intriguing disposition would carve them 
that fortune, from the successful issue of some tur- 
bulent adventure, which more peaceful avocations 
would have denied to their love of reckless extrava- 
gance and their light and volatile dispositions. 
Bigots in religion also saw in him a man who 
might conduce to the furtherance of their particu- 
lar doctrines, and cared but little whether as an in- 
strument in their hands he was pure in his inten- 
tions or otherwise. They looked only to the fortu- 
nate result, and affected to think any means justi- 
fiable that tended to bring about the end they pro- 
posed to attain. 

DisafiTected men, whose element is turbulence, 
and who willingly flock to any master spirit that 
holds out to them the promise of contention, looked 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


13 


up to him with the same fearful pleasure as they 
would upon a magician who they conceived had 
power to raise the storm amid which it was their 
delight to revel. Others, with different motives, 
and equally various views and expectations, gath- 
ered about him, each intent upon his own obji'ct, 
yet looking to him as one through whose superior 
capabilities they might work out its fulfilment. 

'I’here was nothing in the costume of the stranger 
that was peculiarly calculated to assist the memory 
of the inquisitive barber in his attempt at recogni- 
tion. 

His visitor affected in his dress neither the pic- 
turesqueness of the cavalier, nor the prim formality 
of the puritan. Still, as if willing to accommodate 
himself to the taste of both, he wore the falling 
band and steeple-crowned hat of the one, while he 
retained the buff coat embroidered with gold lace, 
and the richly decorated baldrick of the other ; and 
then, again, as if to conciliate the storm and stiff 
religionists for this display of braveries, his thigh 
sustained a long heavy sword, called, in the lan- 
guage of the times, a tuck, and he entirely discard- 
ed the rich silk sash that usually decorated the 
waist of gentlemen — adopting in its stead a plain 
broad belt of dark leather, fastening in the front by 
a massive buckle of silver. 

His companion was a dark-eyed young man, of 
a gloomy and unprepossessing appearance, rendered 
still more forbidding by his black hair being so 
closely shaven around his head that on pressing 
down his high-crowned conical hat nothing but the 
bare face and sinister look of the wearer could be 
seen. A short cloak ef a severe color was thrown 
over a close-fitting jerkin, equally grave in its hue ; 
the latter being a little relieved by a falling band, 
originally white, but now soiled and discomposed 
by the tempest of rain which he had lately encoun- 
tered. At variance, however, with his peaceful 
habiliments, he bore ai his side a heavy sword, 
similar in every respect to that worn by his more 
military looking friend, to whose casual remarks he 
seemed to pay considerable deference, though he 
held himself mostly aloof from consideration, and 
watched with a jealous vigilant eye the motions 
and light whisperings of the small party of citizens 
whose mirth had been so unexpectedly silenced by 
the entrance and abrupt behavior of himself and 
fellow traveler. 

Master Clifton, the barber, had now nearly com- 
pleted his Tonsorial operations, when, as he passed 
the napkin over the face of his customer, he dis- 
placed the clustering curls over his forehead, and 
discovered a small red scar about an inch above 
the temple; and his recognition of the individual 
undergoing his manipulations flashed upon him in 
an instant. Nor was that individual slow to per- 
ceive from the hurried and trembling actions of the 
barber that he was discovered. Darling a threat- 
ening glance at the shrinking operator, he placed 
his finger to his lip to warn him to silence ; and 
then turned for a moment towards the young puri- 
tan, who, as if from a given signal, carelessly 
brought his tuck more readily to be grasped by the 
hand, and, to elude observation, he at the same 
time passed the other under his cloak, which being 
adjusted the pair made ready to depart. 


The elder of the two, however, did not seem dis- 
posed to take his leave without indulging another 
fling at the citizens, so turning towards them he 
said with a sneer, 

“ Good masters — most worthy masters, I thank 
you for the respectful silence and^ gravity with 
which I have been honored. Ye are wise men, 
and honest ; aye, honest as times go. Ye are sup- 
ple too, and fawning, and bear the injuries heaped 
upon you by the Proprietary or his worshipful 
Governor with a most commendable patience. 
Farewell to ye, my grave, honest, and very patient 
masters.” Saying this be turned on his heel, and 
with a significant gesture to the pale wo-begone 
looking barber, crossed the threshold and strode 
leisurely into the street. 

No sooner was the sound of his footsteps lost to 
the ears of all than their attention was drawn to- 
wards the poor barber, who was leaning against the 
mantle-piece and staring with a wild vacant look 
as if a fearful dream had just passed from him. 

“Saunders Clifton! why Saunders, what ails 
you man — speak — speak : know you yon ruffan 
who left but now 1” 

“ In sooth, I know not,” groaned he affrightedly. 

“ Then wherefore do you tremble : what have 
you seen to discompose you thus I” 

“ Seen — seen I” replied Clifton in a fearful whis- 
per, “ I have seen Satan, for aught I know to the 
contrary.” 

Quiet Waters and two others instantly caught 
the infection from Clifton, and became as pale as 
winding sheets. i 

“ Tut, tut,” said Wharton, “ this is sheer foolish- 
ness ; speak, man, we have none but friends about 
us now — whose shape did this same Satan put on 
to cozen and affright you 1” 

“ I know not, I know not,” cried Clifton, wring- 
ing his hands. Oh I am a dead man — pray for me 
my friends — I shall be murdered. Would I had 
never seen him — oh, would I had never seen him.” 

“ Him ! who ]” eagerly enquired Forster. 

“ Farewell my friends,” continued the distressed 
and agitated barber. “ We lie down of a night, but 
none of us can count on rising in the morning. If 
I live I will make my will to-morrow : ere long 
there will be another widow in the Colony. Ha! 
there ! there ! see, see, he is come for me, look !” 

The eyes of all were turned in the direction of 
the casement through which was seen glaring upon 
the barber, the fierce grey eyes of the elder stranger, 
while over his shoulder the puritan scowled upon 
all. 

“ Mary, mother, shield me,” shrieked the unfortu- 
nate Clifton, as he fell upon the floor ; “ and you, 
my friends, save me — save me — ’tis — ’tis Clai- 
borne;” and he fainted away. 

“ Claiborne ! Claiborne !” shouted Wharton and 
Forster rushing into the street and crying “ to arms, 
citizens to arms !” 

In a few moments there was the hurry of many 
feet, a confusion of voices mingling in wild uproar ; 
three guns were fired in succession as the signal of 
an enemy at hand : scouring parties were sent in 
every direction, but he whom they sought had dis- 
appeared as suddenly as he came. 


14 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


CHAPTER V. 

Early in the morning all was bustle and excite- 
ment among the citizens. Vague rumors were in 
every body’s mouth ; and the occurrences of the 
preceding evening were magnified, distorted, or 
laughed at, as the fears, the imagination, or the 
politic humor of the speaker prevailed. The news 
of the night attack upon Trevor and the Ancient, 
added not a little to increase the consternation, al- 
though the latter strove to make light of the adven- 
ture, so that the minds of the timid and wavering 
might be restored to a calmer and more resolute 
tone. But the fears of the Colonists once roused 
were not easily allayed. Those who had friends 
or relatives residing at some distance from the city, 
either went themselves or despatched messengers to 
induce them to instantly leave their plantations and 
seek refuge beneath the protection of the Fort of 
St. Mary’s. The result of this measure was already 
to be seen in the numerous vehicles of all descrip- 
tions pouring into the city from every avenue. 
Here came the rough uncouth ox-cart, bearing all 
the valuable chattels that could most readily be se- 
cured, surmounted by affrighted women and squall- 
ing children. There was to be seen the lighter 
wagon, from beneath the cover of which peered 
anxiously numerous faces of both sexes, from the 
buxom rosy-cheeked lass of eighteen, laughing in 
spite of her fears, to the grave face of the white- 
haired grandsire, who more accurately weighed the 
consequences of the commotion. Then rattled past 
the one-horse chaise, or the lumbering antique ca- 
roche, bearing the wealthier farmer, perhaps a dele- 
gate to the council, or the country gentleman, who, 
having fought in past years in the wars of the low 
countries, now hastened to offer the Governor his 
services at the present emergency, and the benefit 
of his military experience. Horsemen, too, were not 
wanting, some of them with reeking steeds bloody 
with spurring, and others, men of a more phlegma- 
tic constitution, who rode lei.surely and calmly 
along, as if upon ordinary business. 

The guards at the Castle were doubled,' and 
many of the citizens were drafted to perform mili- 
tary duty or entered of their own free will. 

The daring nature of the presence of an outlawed 
traitor, as Claiborne was proclaimed, within the 
confines of the city, nay almost bearding the very 
Fort itself, argued a confidence in his own strength, 
or a personal audacity that called for corresponding 
measures to counteract any plots which he might 
have devised. Religious dissensions had sprung 
up among the Colonists, and the Governor well 
knew that nothing engenders hate so deadly among 
men as a bigoted adherence to their own tenets, 
and an intolerance toward the faith of others. — 
That these dissensions had been fanned into a 
flame by wicked and designing men he never for a 
moment doubted, but he was utterly ignorant that 
Claiborne was the prime mover until informed of 
his recognition the evening previous. Certain dark 
hints and ambiguous menaces which had fallen 
from time to time from the lips of disaffected citi- 
zens now became plain, and revealed the source 
they relied upon for protection should he take um- 
brage at their words. ' 

The seizure of Kent Island by Claiborne, of 


which he had just received information, and the 
melancholy complexion of the latest iiews from the 
mother country, both tended to fill the mind of the 
Chief of the Colony with painful anxiety. Charles 
the First, under whose seal the grant of Maryland 
was held, had been beaten in several pitched bat- 
tles; and the closing triumph of the Republicans 
up to this period, the battle of Marston Moor, con- 
firmed the [ ower of the Parliament, and decided 
the fate of him to whom Maryland still held out 
her allegiance. 

Leonard Calvert, the Governor of Maryland, was 
walking ^to and fro his study with a perturbed step, 
and dictating rapidly to his Secretary, when the 
name of Capt. Trevor was announced. 

“ Bid him wait, Thompson,” said he; “no, stay, 
ask him to join the ladies for the present. — In a few 
minutes I wilt send to speak with him.” 

The servant retired, and Calvert resumed his pre- 
vious occupation. There was in the graceful bear- 
ing and erect port of the brother of the Lord Pro- 
prietary, a nobility that bespoke him as one fitted 
by birth and education to assume the command of 
others. Time had dealt kindly with him; nothing 
in his high thoughtful brow, and his clear dark eye, 
would have led one to infer that he had passed 
through the sunshine and the storm of more than 
fifty years. A few straggling grey hairs indeed 
mingled with his dark glossy locks, but they vtrere 
tell-tales that he neither soueht nor wished to re- 
fute; conscious that age would not be bribed to en- 
tirely conceal itself, and looking back as he did to a 
well spent life, he experienced that internal satis- 
faction which makes the troubles of the present no 
pain, and deprives the future of any power to en- 
gender fear. 

To say that he was not anxious for the safety of 
his brother’s possessions, and that he felt no dread 
of the clouds that were now gathering around him, 
would be to assert that the years of toil he had 
spent in nursing and encouraging the growth of 
the infant Colony, and the large sums he had ex- 
pended to support its young feebleness, were re- 
garded by him with more lightness than the heart 
of man usually cherishes a favorite scheme ; more 
especially when it has become endeared to him by 
the gratifying prospect of his labors gradually ap- 
proaching a successful and glorious termination. 

Leonard Calvert did feel graver amid these threat- 
enings of an unusual outbreak, while he was soothed 
and sustained by the proud conciousness that he 
had sought, by a tolerant rule and a display of im- 
partial justice, to meai?ure all who sought an asy- 
lum and a home within his jurisdiction not by the 
favoriteism of individual preferences, but by the 
only true test, that of their own merit. 

After keeping the Secretary busily engaged for a 
considerable time he at length concluded, and 
said, 

“ So, this will do for the present ; quick, Sewyer, 
quick, fold the dispatches and seal them instantly : 
an hours’ delay at this juncture may bring with it 
years of repentance — within there !” He touched 
a small silver bell and the servant who had an- 
nounced 'I’revor instantly re-appeared. 

“ Are the men who were preparing themselves 
for a journey. Harden and Wingfield I mean, are 
they ready to take their departure!” 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


15 


“ They but wait in the ante-room for your Ex- 
cellency’s orders,” replied the servant respectfully. 

“ ’Fis well, Thompson, admit them, and see that 
none of the busy bodies of the Castle approach the 
door with a too curious ear while these men are 
with me.” 

The servant bowed and retired, and immediately 
afterwards two soldiers entered armed to the teeth 
with buff coat, breas'-plate and morion. A brace 
of pistols protruded from the girdle of each, and a 
petronel or short carabine was slung across the 
shoulders behind. After a stiff military salutation, 
the pair waited in silence the commands of the 
Governor, who, reaching towards the papers which 
the Secretary had laid upon the table, thus addres- 
sed them ; 

“ The zeal for my interests which you have 
manifested in volunteering upon what I confess is 
a service of considerable danger, commends you to 
me in a manner I shall not readily forget, provided 
you execute the trust as faithfully as the earnest 
you have already given me of your promptness to 
aid me in this matter leads^rae to believe. To you, 
Harden, I entrust this packet; it must be delivered 
int(^ the hands of the commander of the Fort at 
Piscatawa, and to no other person. If you be as- 
saulted, and in danger, use your best endeavors to, 
make away with it unperceived. Should you still 
find an opportunity to pursue your journey, press 
on without a moment’s unnecessary delay. On 
your arrival bid Lieutenant Crosbie, in my name, 
fire off the signal guns to call in the planters and 
their families from the scattered and defenceless 
plantations ; and hark ye ! tell him it is my earn- 
est desire if he be attacked that he should hold out 
to the last moment, and prefer death rather than 
stain his name with the dishonor of surrendering 
the poor harrassed people under his protection to 
the doubtful mercy of fanatic rebels, or their blood- 
thirsty and heathenish allies the savages. Give 
him, too, this further hope — that my cousin Branth- 
wayte, with twenty picked men, will at the ear- 
liest moment be in the saddle to afford him relief. 
To your horse my friend, to your horse, and re- 
member that a prudent haste is the leisure of wis- 
dom.” As soon as the soldier had left the apart- 
ment, the Governor continued, — 

“ Corporal Wingfield, here are letters addressed 
to various gentlemen which I require of you to 
place before them as early as possible. To tell you 
that speed is urgent is unnecessary. See I pray 
you that my wishes are fulfilled. Stay man, stay : 
rein up your horse as you pass Shaftesbury Manor, 
and request Capt. Cornwallis from me to post hith- 
erward with as little delay as he can help. Say 
his presence is needed to take command of a small 
force for the purpose of reconnoitering Kent Island, 
which the rebel Claiborne has seized and fortified. 
For the doing of this, bid him select on his way 
such men as he can rely upon ; the remainder shall 
be drafted from among those about me, though I 
can ill spare a single soldier. Away, spare not the 
spur ; and look ye ! there are some of our Burgess- 
es who are but too prone to let out al the lips that 
which they receive at the ear : therefore be chary 
of thy speech, or rather be you as the mute marble 
to all save those to whom your commission extends. 
Fare you well.” 


In a few moments the sharp clatter of hoofs gave 
the Governor assurance that the soldiers had started 
to fulfil their mission. 

“ This is well,” said Calvert, with a smile light- 
ing his firm features, as the hope beamed upon him 
that by energetic measures he might yet crush the 
rising rebellion in its bud. “ If things befall as I 
would wish, we may yet overmaster these intrigu- 
ing and desperate men before they bring any great 
disaster upon the Colony. Ha, Sewyer, what say 
you?” 

“ There is another packet yet to go, so please 
your Excellency,” replied the Secretary. 

“ Adzooks, you are right, and it had clean es- 
caped my memery. But by whom shall we send 
it? there’s the rub. Can your thought furnish me 
with a proper messenger ] In these troubled 
times,” he added in a grave tone, “ it is difficult to 
know a friend from an enemy, so much are the 
minds of our people unhinged by the late disas- 
trous news from abroad concerning the tottering 
fortunes of our most gracious Sovereign. Evil in- 
deed for old distracted England will be the day that 
sees the Parliament triumphant over the ruins of a 
time-honored Monarchy.” 

That the Governor was serious in this belief, 
coupled, as it doubtless was, though perhaps uncon- 
ciously to himself, with the knowledge that the se- 
curity of his brother’s interest in Maryland was af- 
fected by and almost indissolubly linked to the for- 
tunes of his royal master, no one would for a mo- 
ment gainsay. That he was no prophet, as regard- 
ed the power which he thought the Parliament 
would wield, events then in the womb of time af- 
terwards most clearly demonstrated. 

Leonard Calvert little dreamed there was a 
mighty spirit at work among them, to whose all- 
grasping ambition they themselves would succumb, 
and that he whom they lauded as their ever obedi- 
ent servant, was shortly to become their imperious 
taskmaster. 

Leonard Calvert fell for a few moments into a 
trance of gloomy refiection, growing out of his last 
remarks; but after a short time had elapsed he 
roused himself, and said, ' 

“ The packet, Sewyer, the packet ; — where is 
your wit, man ? In all that are about us, can you 
not find one trustworthy I” 

“ Many, your Excellency — many ; but I am 
thinking over the names of the worthiest — ” 

“ So, so — well, your budget!” 

“ There ’s Enoch Thruston, but he is lance pri- 
sade of the scouting party your Excellency sent 
forth this morning ; and there is Reuben Plummer, 
but he hath lately escaped the hands of the physi • 
cian. There is — ” 

“ No more — no more ; you are scanning over the 
names of those we cannot get, — now for some we 
can.” 

“ Among officers — Anas Todkill, a worthy soldier, 
and one devoted to your Excellency.” 

“True, — a most worthy man, and faithful; but 
you forget he has but lately returned from what 
hath been to him a fatiguing and perilous duty, and 
lacks rest, which he shall have ; although I verily 
believe he hath the spirit to obey orders until na- 
ture sank within him from utter exhaustion. We 


16 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


must cherish such men as the worthy ancient ; they 
are not to be found on every bush.” 

“ Captain Trevor then would — ” 

“ Would be an efficient agent. I have thought 
of him, but my cousin Branihwayte must away to 
Piscatawa, and Captain Cornwallis will, on his 
arrival, instantly leave for Kent Island. We can- 
not spare Trevor. We shall need the well disci- 
plined judgment of the young man, whom I wish 
not in any way to hazard ; besides, he was slightly 
wounded last evening, as I hear, in an attack by 
the Indians, who were beaten and dispersed by Tre- 
vor and the gallant old ancient. They both did 
their duty, we may rest assured; though in a 
loving contest before me this morning, each of them 
claimed the victory for the other. — Pass on to some 
one else.” 

“ What thinks your Excellency of Author Corn- 
wallis 1” inquired the secretary, doubtfully. 

“ Out on the Sewyer ! Is your budget so low that 
we must stoop to him — a rude, reckless gallant ; a 
roisterer ; a follower of dissolute courses 1 — For his 
father’s sake, w-e have counselled the youth to bet- 
ter his way of life ; have given him good words, 
and countenanced his visits to the castle ; but we 
cannot trust him with an affair of importance. He 
cannot bear much regard for us, who has so little 
for himself.” 

“ But it is said he loves the Lily of St. Mary’s, 
and has become more staid in his demeanor than 
was his went!” 

“ Only to burst out anon the fiercer when he 
learns that Mary Branthwayte affects him not. — He 
love 1 — believe me, Master Secretary, it is with him 
a wild delirium ; which, cherished by thoughtless- 
ness, should the object be gained, ends in an early 
satiety. True love is a nobler passion, in which self 
has no part. It is timid and unobtrusive, not for- 
ward and clamorous; it brings out its bright hopes 
one by one, not lavishly and with an arrogant dis- 
play. The secret is nursed with too anxious a fond- 
ness to be shouted to every wind ; and the glowing 
aspirations so wrestle with the dark fears, that when 
he who truly loves would speak out from the im- 
pulse of the one, he finds himself suddenly checked 
by the forebodings of the other. — Go to — You are 
a bachelor, Sewyer, and understand naught of the 
mystery of love.” 

“ Your Excellency has the advantage of me in 
that,” said the secretary, smiling. If Authur Corn- 
wallis be rejected, what think you of young Fors- 
ter 1” 

“The very man ! Go to him, Sewyer, and bring 
him hither at once. I marvel we did not remember 
him before.” 

The secretary departed, and after a brief delay 
returned, accompanied by the young man he had 
sought. The military garb which Forster, though 
a volunteer, had assumed, set off his handsome 
figure to advantage ; and as the Governor surveyed 
him from head to foot, he thought he had seldom 
seen a more personable soldier than the youth who 
now stood before him. 

“ Odzooks, Master Forster,” said he; “flat cap, 
and grey jerkin, are sad despoilers of comeliness. 
Since you have donned the apparel of a man at 
arms, you will play sad havoc with the hearts of the 
maidens of St. Mary’s. The feathers of a crow have 


hidden a young eagle. Take care, sir, or I fear me 
the owners of Dovecotes will enter complaint against 
you for flattering their nestlings.” 

Forster blushed to the eyes as he bowed to the 
compliment. 

“ The business concerning which I have sent for 
you,” continued the governor, “ requires a trusty 
messenger. There are rude brawlers enou’ about 
me that would willingly undertake the same, but 
I have need of one with a quick, observant eye, and 
cautious in his speech withal. Now I feel confident 
that you, who perceive the strait in which I am 
suddenly thrown by the machinations of that arch- 
traitor Claiborne, will so demean yourself in this 
matter as to confirm the good opinion we already 
entertain of your ability. This letter must be laid 
before Master Pheypo immediately; and this, with 
the same urgent haste, I wish placed in the hands 
of Master .lohn Genalles. Stepping a little out of 
the road on your return, you will bid Master Dan- 
die lay aside his sledge-hammer, for the purpose of 
attending a special meeting of the Assembly.” 

“ So please your Excellency,” said Forster, 
bluntly but respectfully, “touching the first named 
gentlemen, I will do your errand cheerfully ; bgt as 
regards Master Dandie, the smith, I would fain 
leave him at his own forge fire.” 

“Why so, my friend 1” inquired the governor. 

“ Because I have reason to believe he would be 
but a stumbling block in the midst of your councils. 
I like not to speak ill of any man, but ever since he 
was fined for riotous conduct in the city, here, he 
has borne no good will either to your Excellency, 
or to the Lord Proprietary whom you represent.” 

“ The greater reason he should be under our own 
immediate eye,” said the governor. “Your objec- 
tion is a good one, but the policy would be baneful 
to the colony. Here he can only annoy us a little 
by his opposition, while at a distance he might 
league himself with those who seek to create dis- 
turbance. No, no, — we must have him in the 
midst of us if possible.” 

“ I will obey your pleasure, sir,” said Forster, re- 
tiring. 

“ Stay, my friend, stay, — Can you depart at 
once 1” 

“ Of course — I mean — that is — immediately,” 
said Forster, stammering and blushing. “I have 
but to bid a — a — friend farewell : a moment — only 
a moment — I will return instantly.” 

“ God speed you, my young friend,” said the 
governor, smiling ; “ nay — nay ; hold up your head. 
I see how it is ; but an honest love is not a matter 
to be ashamed of; there is no guile in the heart of 
a man open to warm and virtuous impressions. I 
like you the better for it — go by all means. Come, 
Sewyer, your ear.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

Upon the first sound of alarm given by the in- 
mates of the barber’s shop, Claiborne and his puri- 
tanical looking companion hastily threaded several 
streets, and on reaching the outskirts of the city 
plunged into the adjacent wood, pushing aside the 
wet branches that ever and anon interrupted their 


17 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


progrpsis, deluging them with the shower of drops | 
flung from the shaken leaves, they at length 
emerged into a small open glade. Pausing upon 
the edge of the wood, Claiborne listened for a mo- 
ment attentively, and then whistled the shrill, pecu- 
liar cry of the whip-poor-will. An answer, like an 
echo, immediately followed, and the two compa- 
nions strode boldly into the moonlight, bendingtheir 
steps tow’ard a wild cherry tree that threw its im- 
mense arms far across the Helds, and beneath whose 
shadow they found a man and horse waiting their 
approach. 

‘‘ A trusty knave, this same Hal Rugly,” re- 
marked Claibo’'ne, as the man came forward to 
meet them. “ A trusty knave, and a zealous ; one 
who hath much influence with those of his class in 
the goodly town we have just quitted, and in which 
I have more friends than you wot of. I will make 
him known to you, as he may effectually serve you 
hereafter. Nay, fear not, Hal I” observing he hesi- 
tated — fear not ! ’ tis only a friend — your hand ; 

^ how is it with you 1” 

“ AV et enough, Captain,” replied Rugly, mood- 
ily. “ Trul}^ you have kept but late tryst with me; 
an’ it had been any other than yourself, 1 would — ” 

“ Go to — you are chafed, Hal ! — This humor be- 
comes you not. Were it a love tryst, and the 
maiden delayed you thus, I should not so much 
marvel ; but, for a partisan of the good cause to rail 
because he tarried for a friend beyond the time 
appointed, savors too much of lukewarmness. Go 
your ways, my friend; thus far I thank you for 
your courtesy ; henceforth, I will not ask your aid. 
God wot, there are men enow will serve me; — aye, 
and right gladly, too, if I but beckon them to come.” 

Claiborne evidently knew his man, for as he 
spoke, the gloomy, discoiitenied look of Rugly 
gradually vanished from his face, and he now be- 
came as eager to exonerate himself from disaffec- 
tion, as he formerly appeared prone to quarrel. 

“ Who is chafed, good Captain, 1 1 Marry, sir, 
I would sooner cut my right hand off! Chafed, 
forsooth ! look at me, good master,” said he, turn- 
ing to the puritan. “See you aught of anger in 
my countenance 1” 

“ Nay, verily,” replied the puritan, with an 
almost impercej)tible sneer upon his lips. “ Nay, 
verily, its expression bespeaks peace.” 

“ It does — it does, peace and good will to my 
noble captain, here — my worthy captain ; to do his 
bidding he may seek far ere he find one more wil- 
ling. I ana his bond slave, sir ! — his thrall. 
Chafed with him !— I ’ll see him hanged first !” 

Rugly was one of those men possessed of a quick 
petulent humor, that, if given way to by onq^who 
knows him not, exploded at once into passion ; but 
which, if temperately checked at the onset, rolled 
back as it were upon itself, and returned in a 
milder and more conciliatory channel. 

All in good time, Hal,” said Claiborne, laugh- 
ing “In the meanwhile — hush ! What’s that!” 

“ Sathatius has broke loose,” said Rugly, as the 
confused uproar of many voices rose upon the still- 
ne.ss of the night.” 

*> Thou sayest truly, brother,” rejoined the puri- 
tan. “ Sathanus has indeed broke loose, and speaks 
with the tongues of the followers of the scarlet wo- 
man, even she of Babylon. Hear ye not the roar 

2 


of their warlike engines ?” he added, as the signal 
guns were fired. “ Verily, I say unto you, the day 
is not far distant, when thunder shall speak to 
thunder, and those who are now but indwellers of 
the tents of Kedar, shall be hushed in the silence of 
the grave, or shall join in the prayers of the saints 
who are waxing mighty in the land.” 

Rugly looked inquiringly at Claiborne. 

“A mere flurry of the hive,” said he. “They 
have discovered that I was in their midst, and are 
now buzzing about in a wild and fruitless search.” 

“ Ware hawk my brave captain I” said Rugly, 

“ you are too good a quarry to be in sight when so 
many jesses are loosened : it were a good hundred 
pounds in the hands of any one who should take 
you captive, and bis Excellency hath a short method 
of dealing with those whom he terms rebels.” 

“ So thought he who calls himself the king of 
England, but he has evoked a spirit which he can- 
not lay, and is now struggling hopelessly against 
the victorious arms of those whose rights he sought 
to trample beneath his feet. You have not heard 
the glorious news, Hal Rugly 1 The parliament 
is triumphant in another pitched battle, — the royal- 
ist forces are scattered like deer before the hunters. 
— The king cannot again make head against so fell 
a blow ; for the truth of this, mine especial friend, 
Ephraim Smooth-the-way whom I recommended to 
the best courtesies of yourself and friends will 
avouch, and in fitting time will explain the manner 
in which it benefits our cause.” 

“ Yea, truly.” cried the puritan, “ I will shout it 
from the house-tops, and from the mountain ; how 
the man of Belial is sore beset, and even now 
quaketh and trembleth that the sword of the Lord 
and of Gideon is victorious in the land. The horn 
of the brethren is exalted, and those who were faint 
of heart wax strong, crying aloud to do battle 
against the spoiler.” 

“ A goodly sign and a token that we should be 
up and doing,” said Clairborne, springing to the 
saddle. “ Rugly, to your care I commit this worthy 
gentleman, see that he lack nought that should be 
fitting so welcome a raessenger. Gather together 
the truest hearted of our friends and bid them meet 
us by two’s and three’s, speedily, hut secretly, at the 
Werowance’s town, from whence a blow shall be 
struck that will bring terror to the heart of your 
most worshipful governor.” 

“What is it 1 what is itl” exclaimed Rugly, 
eagerly. ' 

“Nay, soft you there, Hal Rugly,” said Clai- 
borne, with a quiet smile, “ 'J’hou shalt hear soon 
enough, aye, and share in the adventure if it so 
please you, — meanwhile, fare you well.” So saying 
he was about to put spurs to his horse, when the 
voice of Rugly called him back, 

“ I have a message from master Dandie, the 
smith,” said the partizan,“ who prays you to honor 
his poor house with a brief visit, where he would 
like to confer with you on matters of some moment.” 

“ By my hopes.” said Claiborne, “ this is most 
welcome news. If master Dandie joins us we are 
assured of success. A bold man and a shrewd is 
this same master Dandie, with the surline.ss of the 
mastifT, and the tenacity of the bull dog ; wherever 
he holds he clings till death or victory ; I would give 
Kent Island for such a man as he.” 


18 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


“ And we poor curs,” cried Rugly, in an offended 
tone. 

“ Out on you,” said Claiborne, “ do I not know 
you for a gallant knave 1 — A hound that huntt> 
among the foremost of the pack ! Go to, I treason 
you much, and shall not fail to reward — but say no 
more now — see that my wishes are accomplished, 
and you shall not tax me with ingratitude. Away, 
my friends, time presses.” 

Bidding a hasty adieu the partizan and his com- 
panion turned their steps towards the city, while the 
rebel leader made for the woods in an opposite 
direction. 

Leaving Claiborne to pursue his course to the 
main road, where he encountered Trevor and the 
Ancient, as already narrated ; we must now change 
the scene to a rude tenement situate in the very 
depths of the forest, the dense foliage of which shut 
it out from every human eye, and none, save those 
who were acquainted with the secret and almost 
impracticable path which led to it, would ever have 
dreamed of the existence of a habitation in so re- 
mote and apparently so unfavorable a place. Belted 
for a considerable distance around, and in front by 
a thick growth of forest trees, it was secured from 
the wandering steps of the hunter, or the more 
curious investigation of others who might seek to 
penetrate its fastness, by a wide expanse of morass, 
shadowed with a dense covert of bushes and stale 
rank grass, the tufts of which, when pressed by the 
foot of the wayfarer, yielded with a feeble, trenfu- 
lous resistance that argued ill for the safety of any 
attempt at a serious exploration. Upon the con- 
fines of this morass, on the opposite side, the mas- 
sive trunks of patriarchal trees again threw their 
umbrageous shadows far and wide, which the 
swampy nature of the ground beneath protected 
from intrusion by the exuberant luxuriance of 
tangled underwood, wild vines and other parasitic 
plants. Beyond this, the way was less confused, 
and after ascending a slight eminence, the uncouth 
cottage of which we have spoken, became visible. 
A piece of land, measuring perhaps an acre, had 
been cleared away in front, through which gurgled 
an inconsiderable stream, that, chafing against the 
rough, loose stones somewhat obstructing its course, 
gratified the ear with a monotonous but pleasantly 
lulling sound. In the rear of the cottage were 
huge precipitous rocks, from the crevices of which, 
towards the base, grew lichens and dark green moss, 
but crowned at the summit by a stunted growth of 
shrubs and miserably dwarfed oaks and pines. 

Such were the appearances vs^hich the scenery, if 
such it might be called, presented during the day 
time ; but on the night to which we refer, all was 
one black undistinguishable mass, relieved partially 
only, by the rays of the moon as they struggled, 
brokenly, through the foliage, and by a thin streak 
of light issuing from the closed shufeis of the 
dwelling standing so singularly isolated in the midst. 

Towards midnight, however, the moon shone out 
with unclouded lustre, illumining the little secluded 
dell and the clothed hill side, but the cottage was 
only dimly visible within the shadow of the rocks. 

It was about this time that a single individual 
might have been discovered approaching the place 
we have just described. Slowly and painfully he 
seemed to make his way across the clearing, as if 


enfeebled with utter exhaustion and weariness, but 
a nearer examination would have shown that the 
face of the Indian — for such was the new comer — 
was clotted with blood. Stooping for ^ moment to 
quench his thirst in the brook, he next, with the 
habitual cautiousness of his race, glanced suspi- 
ciously around to see if the coast was clear to ad- 
vance, or that no interloper hung upon his footsteps. 
Meanwhile the low growl of a dog, succeeded by a 
sharp, quick bark, and the low, eager tones of men 
gave evidence not to be mistaken, that his prox- 
imity was already known ot the inhabitants of the 
cottage. 

“ Down, Leon, down !’’ cried a harsh voice within 
to the dog, who was now barking furiously ; and then 
in the silence that followed, the voice continued 
in a lower tone. “ Hither, Oby, quick, bring me 
the arms — so — now look to the door, — put the 
chain across and roll me those barrels against it for 
still further security. Good. I have stood seige in 
a worse place than this. Now take your pieces, 
my men, and do as I bid.” 

The man to whom these commands were more 
particularly addressed, said something in a low tone, 
to which the other rejoined, — “I tell thee, Oby, it 
is not he — surely Leon knows his step too well for 
that.” 

A low, sweet silver-toned voice now spoke to 
him who appeared to exercise the chief authority. 

“ Are there many, think you ]” 

“ Sooth to say, I know not, lady, whether they 
be many or few. Peace, Leon — but so please you 
I would advise that you retire to your chamber for 
the present. Anon I will send you such tidings as 
I may gain.” 

Undismayed by these ominous preparations, the 
Indian crawled, rather than walked, to the cottage, 
and throwing himself upon the steps, knocked at 
the door. 

“ Who ’s there 1 what lack ye 1” were the rough 
questions from within.” 

“ Open door,” said the Indian. 

Pass on !” said the harsh voice, “ we shelter not 
strangers.” 

The Indian replied by repeating his blows upon 
the door. While thus engaged the shutter ©f the 
cottage w'as slightly unclosed, and the barrel of a 
harquebuss protruded from between. 

“ Who are you 1” said the man within, fiercely; 
“ speak, or I fire !” 

“ Opachiko,” replied the Indian. 

The name appeared to create some commotion 
among the little garrison, for the deadly tube was 
withdrawn and an earnest conversation ensued 
among the party within. At length he who had 
hitherto been spokesman, was heard to exclaim, 

“ How know I that? By the rood, if he be not 
him he says, his brains shall spatter the lintels !” 
Unclosing the shutter as before, he added, 

“ The young chief has a token that his friends 
will know — let him show it.” 

“ Opachiko has lost it,” said the Indian, sullenly. 

“ Ha !” exclaimed the man, “ there is develtry in 
this;” and the Indian heard the ominous click of 
the weapon that was pointed towards him. 

“ Stay !” said he, ri'^ing with an ellbrt and tear- 
ing a bracelet from his arm:” the singing bird 
wrought this for the young ch.ef; she will look at 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


19 


it and speak.” He threw the glittering gewgaw upon 
the harquebuss, and awaited in silence the result. 

After a brief delay the door was unclosed, and 
Opachiko strode with a proud but feeble step into 
the apartment. A simultaneous exclamation es- 
caped the lips of the inmates as the light revealed 
the haggard and blood-stained features of their 
unexpected visiter, whilst the foremost of the group, 
seeing him reel giddily as if about to fall, sprang 
forward and caught hina in his arms, exclaiming 
with an oath — 

“ Padre de dios shiko, thou art wounded !” Ho ! 
there, the flagon ! quick, quick. Here, my friend, 
drink of this,” he continued, applying the vessel, as 
he spoke, to the lips of the young chief. “ So, so, 
taste but sparingly at present, too^much wine will 
muddle the brain of a feverish man.” 

Aye, or of any other for that matter,” murmured 
some one along side. 

“ Oby, is that you 1 Pry thee call madam Clare ; 
but first rout me yon Caliban, who always seeks 
out the softest pallet for his ugly carcass. Out with 
him, drag him forth if he resist. The imp of 
mischief,” he muttered in an under tone, “ it 
passeth my understanding, what could possess him 
to harbor so untowardly a thing.” 

The man addressed as Oby, proceeded towards a 
bear skin couch, upon which, was what seemed to 
be a shapeless heap of clothes flung together ; but, 
when the eye gazed steadily at the object, an 
enormous head covered with a mass of black shaggy 
hair which streamed down in wild elf-locks upon the 
. shoulders, became dimly visible; but the outlines 
of the form were undistinguishable, for the thing 
sat huddled up with its elbows resting upon its 
knees, and its large clenched hand supporting either 
cheek. As the man advanced to dislodge this 
strange mockery of a human shape, the uncouth 
creature watched his coming with a vigilant, cat- 
like expression, and once or twice poised itself as 
if on the point of springing at the disturber, but the 
sight of a stout staff which Oby had instantly 
seized, made it resume its original position. 

“Out, hunchback!” cried Oby, swinging the 
cudgel above his head ; “ out, I say, lest thou urge me 
to belabor thy crooked bones until they ache again.” 

“ Prick him with thy dagger !” shouted the first 
speaker, savagely ; but the creature moved not, 
contenting itself with glaring at its adversary from 
dark eyes that flashed with the most intense hatred. 
Once the cudgel descended, and to the pain inflicted 
thereby a quick, sharp snapping snarl was the only 
response. The man now became infuriated and 
was about to make a second and severer application, 
when his arm was arrested in its descent, and a 
sweet musical voice, said in tones somewhat raised 
above their ordinary pitch, 

“ Forbear, master Oby ! is not the affliction 
which God has wrought upon this poor crea- 
ture, sufficient to warrant him against inhumanity 
from us 1 Surely it is but an ignoble valor that 
would seek to chastise the helpless or the maimed.” 

“ Pardon me, lady,” said the man, looking for a 
moment upon the fair face of the youthful censurer, 
and then casting his eyes down abashed, added, ‘‘ I 
did but seek to remove him from the couch that the 
young chief, who is sadly wounded, might rest him- 
self thereon.” 


“ A few kind words had more profiled to effect 
that,” replied the lady, “ than a hundred stripes 
from thy baton. See he hath gone already.” 

Oby glanced at the pile of bear skins, and finding 
it vacant, his eyes wandered mechanically around 
the room, until in the opposite corner they rested 
upon the sh&peless figure of the hunchback, crouch- 
ing, huddled up as before. 

Opachiko having been carefully bestowed upon 
the bed thus suddenly vacated, the maiden seated 
herself in a chair beside him, and spoke a few words 
to him in so kindly a tone, that the intelligent fea- 
tures of the young Indian beamed with an expres- 
sion of unwonted pleasure; and when she rose to 
leave the apartment, his eyes followed her move- 
ments in evident admiration, and were still resting 
upon the door through which she had disappeared, 
when she returned, accompanied by a matronly 
looking woman, whose pale countenance and lin- 
gering step, betokened the effects of recent terror. 

“ Nay, nay, Clare,” said the maiden, as she gen- 
tly drew forward the unwilling dame, “there is 
naught here to discompose thy poor nerves — naught 
save a young friend whom thou hast seen before, 
and who hath just reached us in such a woeful 
state, as to require our speedy aid. Come, thou 
must assist me.” 

“ Mercy on us !” exclaimed the old lady, who, 
finding that there was no danger to be apprehended, 
now gave free rein to her speech, and coursed on- 
ward with the utmost volubility. “ Mercy on us ! 

I ha’ not been so frightened I do not know the day 
when. This heathenish land is a perilous place for 
a lone woman like me. In poor dear Clare’s time, 
when we dwelt near the London stone — ah me! 
what a pleasant house ! — in his day I had nothing 
to fear, save now and then a rude outbreak from the 
apprentices, as they came from shooting at butts, or 
from ball play in the fields beyond Gracious street. 
A goodly dwelling was ours, Mistress Helen, and 
when poor Clare died, it was bought by one Master 
Partlett, a glover, a very worthy man, a bachelor, 
and witty of speech withal ; by the same token that 
I remember he said to me shortly after I had lost 
my husband, as I was standing by the conduit in 
Cornhill, waiting my turn to fill my vessel with 
water — it was in the evening, just as the shops were 
about closing, for I recollect the apprentices made 
such a clatter with the shutters, that I could scarcely 
catch the words of Master Partlett, — says he to me, 
says he — ” 

“ Another time, good Clare, another time,” said 
the maiden, hastily checking a recital she bad heard 
repeated fifty limes before — “ see, here are unguents 
and such other appliances as may be necessary, and 
now, I pr.ay you, assist me with your skill in behaif 
of this sufferer.” 

Without further ado, the maiden busied herself 
in preparing bandages, while the really kind-hearted 
dame, forgetting for a moment her loquacity, pro- 
ceeded to wash the blood I'rorn the wound, and per- 
firm such other surgical offices as the state of 
Opachiko seemed to render nrcessary. 

While the maiden and her more elderly com- 
panion were thus charitably engaged, the former 
was totdly unconscious how intently the gaze uf 
the Indian was riveted Uf>on her. Once or twice 
she looked up to speak some soothing word, or to 


20 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


advise with the matron as to what she should de ( 
next, when his eyes were instantly withdrawn ; but 
immediately she resumed her occupation, they again 
turned towards her, and dwelt there, as if attracted 
thither by a fascination which the patient would 
not, or could nut, resist. 

But the busy hum of voices remind us that there 
are other personages within the apartment who 
must not be forgotten. First of all, however, a brief 
d^’scription of the room itself njay perhaps be neces- 
sary, as a prelude to the introduction of its inmates. 

Composed of logs, and of ample dimensions, the 
peaceful character which one would have presumed 
from a glance at the exterior, was but ill borne out 
by the warlike appearance of things within. Lie- 
pending from the walls were swords, pistols, and 
daggers, of various sizes and patterns, but all of 
them so arranged as to be taken down at a moment’s 
notice. Muskets and harquebusses in no incon- 
siderable number were stacked alongside ; while 
upon the ground lay bundles of pikes, corslets, steel 
caps, and other articles appertaining ’to military 
stores, among which might be mentioned ammuni- 
tion of all kinds, and two sakers, or falcons, a 
diminutive species of cannon, much used in the 
wars of the period. Of the inmates of this warlike 
hold, in number perhaps twenty, some had flung 
themselves carelessly upon the floor, where, by the 
heaviness of their breathing, they had not courted 
sleep in vain. Others, out of deference to the pre- 
sence of the ladies, had thrown aside the dice box 
and the cards, and consoled themselves by a more 
frequent application to the flagon, of which the 
broad, heavy table presented no stinted supply, — 
often, however, casting wistful glances, first at the 
cards, and then at the females, as if anxious for their 
disappearance, in order to continue the game. A 
third party, consisting of five persons, sat near the 
door, busily engaged in conversation with a sturdy 
bioad-shouldered individual, to whose remarks they 
seemed to pay considerable deference. This latter 
personage presented, in his appearance, a strange 
admixture of the soldier, the gentleman, and the 
ruffian. His features, though coarse and heavy, 
were relieved from dulness by the fierce expression 
of his dark, brilliant eyes ; and the long chestnut 
colored hair, that streamed dowm to his shoulders, 
showed, by the care which had been taken to keep 
the ringleted locks from disarray, that he still, in this 
particular at least, retained some of the fastidious- 
ness of the cavalier. This indeed seemed the only 
point upon which he prided himself, for the buff 
doublet covering his breast-plate, was stained and 
greasy, and the faded silk sash was fastened about 
his waist in a careless, negligent manner. A jaunty 
recklessness was perhaps the most prominent cha- 
racteristic of the man. That he was, or had been, 
a soldier, showed itself evidently in his hearing. A 
gallant too had he been in the old world— one who 
had rioted away his estate, and after becoming a 
swash buckler, and a consorter with low and disso- 
lute persons, had embarked for the new hemis- 
phere, with the hope of mending his broken fortunes, 
as many other adventurers had done before him. 

The stamp of gentility, though obscured in him, 
was not entirely effaced, as was observable when 
addressing the maiden Helen ; for, at such times, 
he displa} ed an air of courtly breeding, and a con- 


siderateness, singularly at variance with the rough 
anti almost brutal manner with which he acco-ted 
those around. ISuch was Hugh Keintre, superior, 
both by birth and education, to those among whom 
his lot was now cast, but debased below many of 
them by yielding himself the slave of evil passions, 
whose efl'ects had visibly stamped themselves upon 
the lines of his countenance, and whose suggestions 
but too often overruled hi.s better resolves. The 
mixed character of the apartment, half guard room, 
half armory, was in good keeping with that of its 
inmates, all of whom seemed to have something of 
the precision of the soldier, dashed with the more 
licentious manners of the freebooter. 

Only one man was dressed in the entire garb of 
a civilian. His age was probably about thirty years. 
Of middle stature, with a pale, intellectual face, the 
beauty of which was marred by its sensual expres- 
sion, and the inreads caused by too much devotion 
to the wine flagon. With the exception of a tuft 
upon his under lip, he was unbearded ; which, not- 
withstanding his years, gave him rather a boyish 
look. His dress consisted of a murrey-colored jerkin 
and hose, fitting tight to his frame ; a lawn band, 
considerably the worse for wear — a pair of buff 
shoes, on the instep of which, were bunches of red 
riband, gathered to represent roses, though their 
original form was now lost, and their color almost 
undistinguishable from the stains and dust with 
which it was defaced. 

This latter individual did not associate much with 
the rest, except in their potations. At other times, 
he seemed wrapped within himself, as if connii g 
over things treasured in his memory — or else he 
w'ould stait up with his locig, thin rapier, make 
numberless passes at some imaginary object upon 
the wall, or, tired of attacking an inanimate body, 
he would flourish his weapon before the eyes of the 
dwerf, and amuse himself for hours with the angty 
contortions and snarlings ot the creature he offended. 
When in a pleasant mood, or elevated by wine, 
which was not unfrequently the case, he would 
break out into random quotations of stage plays, 
and indulge his hearers with reminiscences of actors 
with whom lie had been familiar ; for he had strutteil 
his brief hour upon the boards, being indoctrinaud 
into the mysteries of the profession at a very early 
age by his father, whose love for the histrionic art 
was only equalled by his bibulous propensities — 
twin afl'ections, which had lineally ilescended to his 
son, and were cherished by him with an ardor pro- 
portioned to the source from whence they sprung. 

The occasion that induced the jilayer to leave the 
favorite haunts of The Globe, The Fortune, and 
Blackfriars, and migrate to a land so ill calculated 
for a display of his peculiar abilities, will now per- 
haps never be known. Some said he had been en- 
gaged in a brawl, in which one of the lords of the 
court was dangerously wounded, compelling him to 
seek safety in flight, — others more charitably attri- 
buied it to the eccentric habits of comedians gene- 
rally; who, being but little skilled in worldly mat- 
ters, often rashly adopt a line of conduct, without 
considering their own fitness for succeeding in the 
particular pursuit. 

Whether either of these suppositions was correct 
or otherwise, certain it is, that Master Lightfoot 
never dropped a hint that might serve as a clue to 


CLAIBORJNE THE REBEL. 


21 


unravel the mystery ; but when questioned on the j 
subject, would gravely shake his bead, and sigh | 
heavily, or else quote a stage play, and ihen, lo / 
change the c(»nversation. suddenly whip out his 
rapier, throw himself into an attitude, cry, “ Sa ! sa !” 
and flourish away at his usual pastime. 

But amid these various personages just introduced 
to the reader, nothing appeared so singular as the 
presence of the maiden already mentioned. It was 
a strange and unusual sight to behold one so beau- 
tiful, and a[)parent!y so pure, among such men, and 
in such a place ; and yet, she seemed to fl-ar no 
evil from their proximity, but moved and acted as if 
accustomed to scenes like the present, and neither 
dreamed nor dreaded that any ill could arise to 
herself from being placed in a position so foreign to 
her sex, and so dangerous from her personal attrac- 
tions. What was it then that restrained lawless 
men from offering any indignity to one apparently 
so unprotected 1 Was it a moral sense, or was it 
a secret certainty of summary justice ] . Both had 
their effect. The very guileless trustfulness of the 
maiden operated as a check upon them, and the 
knowledge that he who placed her there would 
resent fearfully the least symptom of disre.spect. 
joined to a rude feeling of honor in being constituted 
the guardians of one so eminently fair and spotless. 

. rendered her as safe among this motley crew of 
adventurers, as if she were folded in her father’s 
arms. 

Having seen the wound of Opachiko carefully 
dressefl, the maiden and her attendant rose to de- 
part, the former saying as she did so — 

“ Rest thee now, my friend, we W'ill see thee 
again on the morrow, when I hope lo find thee 
better.” 

“ The singing bird is very kind,” murmured the 
Indian, “ and her voice is sweet and low, and maketh 
the heart of the Manahoack strong. He will tell 
his people how she hath been a sister to him, and 
they will love her for the sake of their chief.” 

“ Pardie,” cried Keintre, laughing, “ ’Shiko hath 
a glit tongue. Is there a school for compliment in 
these wilds, that he speaks it so daintily 1” 

“ I would I had his pretty gift of flattery,” said 
Oby, “ it might serve me a good turn one of these 
days.” 

“ For flattery comes from instruments that make 
most sound, because of their own hollowness,” 
added the player, oracularly, but as if speaking less 
to any particular individual, than communing with 
his own thoughts. 

“ Silence, sirrah !” cried Keintre, contemptuously, 

“ what shouldst thou know 1 I tell thee ’Shiko is 
as true a — hush ! — what is it, Leon ]” 

The dog, who had hitherto crouched under the 
table, now began to whine and wag his tail, and at 
length bursting forth into a loud and joyful bark, 
made for the door, where he commenced pawing 
and scratching with the greatest eagerness. 

“ I hear it — ’tis a footstep,” shouted Oby. 

“ He has come at last,” said Keintre. “ Up men, 
up, and welcome your leader. Peace a moment — 
there must be no mistake. Speak, who are you 1” 
he continued, and then listened for a reply. The 
word was given, the door was quickly opened, and 
a man with a horseman’s cloak across his arm, 
strode over the threshold. The dwarf, who had crept ^ 


from his hiding place, caught a sight of him, and 
instantly lay at his feet, clasping his knees, while 
Helen Claiborne, with a hajipy cry of' joy, darud 
across the apartment, and flung herself upon the 
bosom of her father. 


CHAPTER VH. 

Restless intriguer as Claiborne was, and with a 
heart callous to the finest feelings of humanity, 
there was yet something exceedingly touching in 
his earnest and all-absorbing love for his daughter. 
Love we have called it, but that is too feeble a word ; 
it was passion, intense passion, bordering on idola- 
try. In her, and for her, he seemtd to live; all 
things were valueless in his eyes, but as tending to 
benefit or pleasure her. For her he had toiled amid 
hardships and dangers many a weary day, many a 
watchful night — lor her he had stained his .soul with 
crimes, at the bare mention of which, her pure and 
innocent feeling would have taught her instinctively 
to shudder, and stand aghast. Ambition was his 
ruling passion, but the aggrandizement of his child 
had made it so. There was no scheme that he 
planned — no act that he committed, but what had a 
reference to this end. 

An adventurer at first for the mere love of ad- 
venture, his desire for more expanded rule grew up, 
and increased with the love of his daughter. The 
settlement of Kent Island was but a preliminary 
step to taking possession of the whole of the conti- 
nent lying between the territory of the Sweedes, on 
the Delaware, and that of the Virginia company. — 
But before he could strengthen himself sufficiently 
to carry his design into effect, the grant to Lord 
Baltimore not only took in the whole of his residuary 
principality, but included Kent Island itself. With 
a rashness and folly excusable only when we con- 
sider that the cherished hopes of years were suddenly 
blasted, he not only refused to acknowledge the right 
of Sir Cecilius Calvert to the land in question, but 
desperately made war upon the infant colony. 

The consequences of this fool-hardiness might 
easily have been predTcted. Kent Island was wrested 
from his grasp — confiscation and outlawry succeed- 
ed — and the ambitious and doting father, instead of 
securing to his daughter the heirdom of a magnifi- 
cent territory, now found her a wanderer and an 
outcast. 

Beggared, but not subdued ; weak in resources, 
but strong in resolution ; his reputation as a leader 
soon attached to him a number of disaffected men, 
whose morality was as bad as his own. From petty 
annoyances he gradually rose to more daring acts; 
and after having obtained by his effrontery the 
King’s order for his reinstatement in all that he ac- 
tually possessed, at the coining of the nevv Colo- 
ni.sis his hopes in the ultimate success of his schemes 
began to revive, and he again resumed the thought 
of his i iiaginary empire where the affectionate but 
unsuspicious Helen was the chief actor in the 
pageant. 

Nor were these day dreams now so airy and fan- 
tastic as they once were. The years that had in- 
tervened since his first contemplation of the idea of 
^ goveiaincnl, had aiade va^i coauges bulb at houie 


22 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


and in the old country ; and although Claiborne 
was not apparently so strong in numerical force as 
to enable him to wage successful war, yet the pro- 
babilities of his eventual success were every day 
becoming less problematical. The tolerance ex- 
tended to religious faith by the Proprietary had en- 
gendered jealousies, heart-burning, and feuds, be- 
tween the fiery zealots of either sect; which, being 
artfully supplied with fuel by Claiborne or his 
emissaries, at length threatened to burst forth in 
open flame. The situation also of affairs in the 
mother country, by rendering the tenure of Lord 
Baltimore precarious in the extreme, strengthened 
in the same degree the hopes of the rebel leader and 
his adherents. 

Claiborne had studiously concealed from his 
daughter the darker shades of his character, while 
he dwelt so much and so earnestly upon the in- 
juries he had experienced from the Lord Proprie- 
tary, that her noble and unsuspicious nature looked 
upon his past actions and his present warlike prepa- 
rations, as far as they were known to her, as justi- 
fied by the contumely and oppression with which 
she was taught by him to believe he had been un- 
justly visited. But had the truth been told her, 
and his deeds of reckless violence been painted in 
their most terrific colors, filial affection would still 
have led her to doubt that he who had ever exer- 
cised toward her the tenderest and most devoted 
love, could be a fomenter of evil passions, a traitor 
and a murderer. 

And indeed tho.se who knew him best would 
have been staggered in their belief could they have 
seen him now with his daughter at his knee, his 
fond smile resting upon her fair innocent face, and 
his hard brown hand toying amid the masses of her 
dark luxuriant hair, while his thoughts seemed re- 
velling in dreams of the most joyous kind. The 
whole nature of the man appeared changed ; the 
harsh lines of his weather-beaten countenance — the 
fierce light accustomed to shoot from his grey eyes 
— the quick abrupt tones of his voice, and the en- 
ergetic gestures of command, were all softened 
down as he gazed upon his child. Humanity had 
assumed its prerogative, and he who scofi’ed at con- 
science and grappled daringly with unlawful dan- 
gers, yielded in the presence of his offspring to its 
soothing influence. 

“ So Nell thou art in health I see. Trust me, 
sweet, it glads me to fold thee in my arms again. 
A dreary place this for one so tenderly nurtured as 
thou my girl ; and yet it hath its advantages — it is 
safe; and while I know my dove nestles secure I 
can wander abroad with fewer misgivings about my 
heart.” 

“ But why wander at all, oh my father? Surely 
more happiness could be found in a peaceful se- 
cluded cottage at a distance from these dissentions 
than by thrusting ourselves into the midst and thus 
provoking the evils w'e would avoid ! Let us then 
seek some retired spot, where, when the sun rises, 
we can look out upon the green fields without fear- 
ing to find an enemy ; and when night comes on I 
can sit by thy side while thou tellest me tiles of 
other days, or I sing the songs which thou once 
loved to hear.” 

“ A pretty fancy, sweet — a pretty womanish fan- 
cy, made up of pleasant and gentle thoughts as thy 


day dreams always are; but w'here shall we find 
this same cottage? In fairy land, or in thatrgion 
of flowers where Ponce de Leon sought the foun- 
tain of eternal youth? In the last named region 
doubtless, for when we find the home of which 
thou speakest, be sure of it Nell, there shall we be- 
hold the marvelous fountain.” 

“ This must be a very wicked world,” murmured 
the maiden with a sigh, “ if the comfort of a home 
apart from strife be as fabulous as that fountain of 
which thou speakest.” 

“ Thou misconceivest me sweet. Of pleasant 
homes there are many ; but few or none such as 
thou hast pictured ; and if there be, they are not 
for us. Ours is a loftier destiny. The strife at 
which thou shrinkest, is but the commotion of those 
elements which shall soon purify the atmosphere 
from the pestilence that hath hitherto poisoned this 
beautiful land. When this comes to pass Nell thou 
shall go forth my girl ; for then will thy goodly 
home be prepared for thee. Over the green fields 
for which thou pinest shalt thou wander unmolest- 
ed, and thou shalt be the peer of the proudest, and 
the fairest of the colony shall be thine hand- 
maidens.” 

“ Father !” 

“ If thou lovest brave apparel thou shall flaunt it 
in the richest velvets, or in tissues cunningly inter- 
woven with silver.” 

“ Father ! !” 

“ Rare jew'els shalt thou have, the costliest of the 
Indian mines. Wilt thou walk, servants shall at- 
tend thy beck and humbly wait upon thy footsteps. 
Wilt thou ride, lo here thy gay caroche with spir- 
ited steeds that spurn the ground they tread on.” 

“Dear father, pray forbear! who is the dreamer 
now ?” 

“ Thou shalt have suitors too — men of high 
lineage — belled knights and lords of noble name ; 
these shall be thy wooers ; yet shalt thou not be 
won.” 

“ Father ! dear father !” said the maiden, fling- 
ing herself upon his neck, alarmed at his ra(»t earn- 
estness. “ These are wild words, and the things of 
which thou speakest befit not those of our condi- 
tion. In thy sleep I have often heard thee mur- 
mur thoughts like these, but never till now hast 
thou breathed them openly. Oh, banish them from 
thee for thine own sake and for mine.” 

Claiborne looked hurrieilly about him for a mo- 
ment like one recovering from a trance ; and then, 
pressing his daughter to his heait said, — “Cheer 
thee, Nell, cheer thee — ihou hast had thy vision, 
why not I mine? We all of us, at one time or 
other in our journey through life, build unsubstan- 
tial fabrics, that the first blast from the mocking 
breath of reality dissipates into empty air, and 
leaves us poor architects wo-begone for an instant, 
perhaps never to do the same again, or, perchance, 
which is the more likely, to fill up our vapoury fa- 
brics with the same assiduity as before.” 

The mind of the maiden was relieved from an 
oppressive weight by her father’s words, and she 
said gaily, 

“ I am glad thy picture is a fleeting one, for I 
would not that such were thine a.spirations.” 

“ We shall see,” said Claiborne, and then added, 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


23 


in the same serious tone — “ There have been invol- 
untary prophets Nell.” 

“ God forbid thou should’st be one in this mat- 
ter!” exclaimed Helen hastily, when seeing a sud- 
den cloud upon her father’s brow she continued, — 
“ Thou art wise my father, for sad experience hath 
been thy teacher ; therefore I feel that even were 
they possible thou can’st not wish such things 
should come to pass.” 

Claiborne took the hand of his daughter within 
liis own, and looked fixedly into her dark, earnest 
eyes for some moments. A hasty involuntary ex- 
pression escaped his lips as he read there a con- 
firmation of his worst fears — the downfall of his 
ambitious projects ! She — his daughter, the cher- 
ished one of his heart — the only human thing he 
loved, and for whose exaltation he had wrestled 
with danger, and laughed in scorn at the contumely 
heaped upon his name — she could not enter into 
his feelings, but looked with a deprecating eye 
upon his evil aspirations. Here was a stumbling 
block he had overlooked. In all his schemes for 
the future he had anticipated the obedience of his 
daughter, at least her acquiesence ; and now, that 
the night or his travail was past, and the dawn he 
had so eagerly desired was at hand, he felt there 
had arisen within the last hour a mightier bulwark 
against the consummation of his long-cherished 
ambition than any he had yet overcome 

But though the maiden’s humility baffled while 
it surprised him, he did not feel altogether disheart- 
ened. “ Perchance,” thought he, “ I have been too 
hasty ; she hath been nurtured so long in humble- 
ness that thoughts of splendor affright her. One 
who hath been shrouded a while in darkness is 
dazzled by the glare of light ; but let it break upon 
him cautiously and his sense of vision anon takes 
in undisturbed the fullness of the effulgence; even 
so must I deal with her until that which she now 
shrinks from shall be looked upon as the true sphere 
for which she hath been fitted.” 

Having come to this conclusion, all trace of dis- 
appointment vanished from Claiborne’s face ; and 
still folding the hands of Helen within his own, he 
said, with a light laugh, — “ Thou art too hasty in 
drawing inferences, sweet. Body o’me, an’ thou 
had’st been a boy I would have apprenticed thee to 
one learned in the law, where thy wits in such mat- 
ters would have been well exercised. What! can- 
not thine own father wish thee good fortune but 
thou should’st pout and play the prude 1 fie on 
this idle humor. I did but say what thou deserv- 
est — too well thou knowest I lack the power to 
bestow.” 

“ My dear, dear father,” said the maiden, fling- 
ing her fair arms about his neck and kissing his 
rough cheek, “ I do not covet such gauds and fool- 
ish trappings. But sooth to say,” she added arch- 
ly, “ thine was a glorious imagining — ^jewels, robes, 
and belted knights and servitors. Truly it is a 
state befitting a queen.’* 

“ And art thou not the peer of any queen in my 
eyesi” answered he with a kindly look. “ Were 
the regalities of the world laid at thy feet, ray love 
would deem them all too little for thine excelling 
worth.” 

“ Nay, nay, T must stay this flattery,” said Helen 
play/ully. “ Come, I have heard no tidings of thy 


late journey. Do the maidens of Jamestown still 
I wear the French hood and farthingale 1 and what 
is the color of the kirtle among tho.-e of St. Mary’s ] 
prythee tell me the fashion of dresses now, and 
how the hair is worn.” 

“ I warrant me, Nell,” replied Claiborne, w'ith a 
stealthy glance from beneath his bushy eyebrows, 
“ I warrant me thou aflectest those gauds somewhat, 
which bat now appeared to be despised of thee. 
Eh 1” 

“ Indeed — indeed, I do not.” 

“ A little — only a little.” 

“Not a whit, believe me.” 

“ Thou dost, I know thou dost. Be open with 
me; say in your heart it is so. Why shouldst thuu 
fear to acknowledge it] I am thy father — to me 
there can be no harm in the admission. Why, to 
be daintily attired is ever a woman’s first thought.” 

“Such is not mine, my father; and even if it 
were — ” she stopped suddenly, and looked at the 
rude apartment in which they sat. 

“I understand,” replied Claiborne; “ thou think- 
est that with a rugged roof like this to cover us, 
such wishes would be wrong — but say,” he added 
eagerly, while the workings of his countenance told 
of how much importance to himself he felt the 
question ; say there was one who loved you ]” 

“ Father !” 

“ Tush ! I am merely supposing a case. Say 
there was one who loved you — doted upon you, 
and he was in the expectancy of high honors atid 
emoluments; say even that he possessed the power 
to seat thee in such state as I before described — 
wouldst thou then not forget this lowly roof, and 
reflect his gallant bearing, if I so bid thee 1 Speak, 
Nell, speak.” 

“ My desires are humble, oh my father ! and in 
no other sphere would I be content to live.” 

Fiercely, and almost savagely, Claiborne shook 
his daughter from him, as he burst forth with — 
“ Thou art a — ” 

“ What ]” inquired the maiden, timidly, turning 
her fair innocent face up to his. 

“ A good girl — a good girl — ” added he, master- 
ing the passionate and unworthy exclamation that 
was struggling at his lips. “There, get thee to 
bed — go — a kiss — so now go — go.” 

Helen had never before seen him so moved. 
Once — twice, ere she retired, she returned — de- 
parted, and again returned, to press her lips to his 
clouded brow. This affectionate irresolution was 
not lost upon the ambitious but doting father, and 
j the augury which be drew from it was calculated 
I to sooth in a considerable degree his ruffled feel- 
ings, and restore them to their wonted tone. 

“She loves me,” thought he, “ and however her 
j preferences lead her to choose retirement, she will 
I not hesitate to as.>:ume a more splendid station in 
I obedience to my will. Pteferences !” he continued, 

I dwelling with some emphasis upon the word. 

“What are they but likings engendered by habit, 

I to be unseated by accustoming the mind to things 
I of a contrary nature] Surely ’tis an easy task to 
I delight her with the goodly prospect, wh< n she 
i hath been once persuaded to mount the rounds of 
j fortune’s ladder. But to do this — were it a man, 
j and possessed of her gentle but indomitable spirit, I 
i might despair. But a woman — a tercel, gentle. 


24 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


prond of (ho tinkling of silver bells — ” he paused ' 
for several moments in deep rumination, and then, 
as if a load had been removed from his breast, his 
countenance suddenly brightened, and he exclaimed, 
“ It can be done.” 

Did Claiborne know his daughter] 

After meditating for a short time, the outlaw 
summoned Keintre to his presence. That worthy 
entered the apartment with a careless and swagger- 
ing air. in which, however, a dash of reverance 
might have been detected by a shrewd t)bserver. 

“ How came Shiko here ]” was the abrupt ques- 
tion of Claiborne, without regarding the salutation 
ol his subaltern. 

“ By the door ” was the saucy reply that rose to 
the lips of Keintre, but he suppressed it, merely 
saying, 

“ He was wounded at the bridge of the Ravine, in 
an assault with some of his band upon Todkill and 
an officer, supposed to be the commander of St. 
Inigoes ; but the attack — ” 

Was unsuccesslul. I know it,” added Claiborne, 
and then asked, “ Who incited them to this ]” 

“I suppose it was a little bye-play of their own, 
just to keep their hands in,” returned the other, 
carelessly. 

“ Lightnings blast them for it!” cried Claiborne, 
with a fierce vehemence that made his companion 
start. “Could they not wait until I returned] 
Hear me, Keintre — if these bloodhounds slip the 
leash again until I bid them. I’ll hew the whole 
tribe in pieces. — Were any of our people among 
them ]” 

“ Will’ Suttrell and Dare-devil Oakley are out,” 
said Keintre; “and Shiko tells me he heard their 
voices during the affray, but did not see them. So 
I suppose they had just joined.” 

“ A rash disobedience, for which due punishment 
shall be meted out to them,” muttered Claiborne, 
sternly. 

“ Thou art becoming merciful towards the soldiers 
of the colony,” rejoined Keintre, with a scarcely 
perceptible sneer. 

“ Merciful I” exclaimed Claiborne, scornfully ; 
and then added, as his brows contracted, and a 
gloomy scowl darkened his features, “ hat care 
I if their carcasses were festering in the Ravine, so 
that it interfered not with my plans] ’Slife!” he 
continued; “ ’t is enough to drive one mad to be 
thwarted in this manner by reckless underlings, 
whose uncurbed humors lead them to set at naught 
all discipline. We must look to this, Master 
Keintre.” 

“ I hope thou dost not class me with such men 
as these,” said the latter, spiritedly, a gleam of the 
old time cavalier infusing a momentary nobleness 
into his bearing as he spoke. 

“ Of a verity, no, my friend !” returned Clai- 
borne, with a frank w'armth of manner that soothed 
the latent insubordination of Keintre, as oil calms 
troubled waters. “ I have much tt> repay thee, good 
sir, for thy considerate guardianship of my daugh- 
ter; and foul scorn befal me if I forget if,” he con- 
tinued, energetically. “This alone would make 
me thy fast friend, but other services — ” 

“No more, I pray thee,” interrupted Keintre, 
“Touching the matter of Mii»tress Helen, I were a 
false knave, indeed,” he added, gallantly, “ did I 


not strive to protect her as far as could be com- 
passed by my poor abilities; and for the doing of 
which, a kind word from her were an all-sufficient 
guerdon.” 

“ I thank thee, from my soul I thank thee!” said 
Claiborne, with a glowing energy that spoke how 
truly, in this instance, he felt the woids he uttered. 
“But come,” said he, changing his tone, “ to busi- 
ness ; the Flight wanes, and the morrow must see 
me again in the saddle.” 

It is unnecessary to detail the conversation that 
ensued ; the principal posiions of which, relatii.g 
to the present posture of affairs in the colon3r, 
having been already laid befi>re the reader, and the 
results of their future deliberations will be developed 
in due time. 'I'he close of the colloquy may not, 
however, he passed unnoticed. 

“Thou wilt see this done, good Keintre, with 
such discreet secrecy as becomes men who are ven- 
turing a large stake to obtain a good ei d,” said 
('laiborne, rising. “ But the cri-oked dwarf imp 
H Ion; what of him] shall we cast the limb of 
Satar) forth, ere we depart]” 

“On your lives, no! Thou knowest not the 
value of that wayward and uncouth creature. — 
Need I a trusty emissary, who so little likely to 
attract suspicion as he] Lack I a speedy messtn- 
ger, who so calculated to pass on his errand 
unnoticed ]” 

“ Faugh !” I hate the ugly thing.” 

“ Nor do I bear him any love,” said Claiborne, 
coldly; adding, significantly — “ When I have used 
him, thou mayest do with him as thou wilt.” 

“He will straighten, some day, then,” said 
Keintre, with a callous laugh ; and then, as he 
placed his hand upon the bolt of the door, he asked, 
“ Are we to look for thy overtaking us ]” 

“ I shall tarry but to see the smith ; — that done, 
tell them to expect me. Good night! ’ 


CHAPTER VIII. 

On leaving the presenc? of the Governor, Forster 
hastened down the stairs, and soon reached the 
court-yard, where he found Ancient Todkill busily 
engaged in endeavoring to itstil some knowledge of 
arms and military exercise into a squad of raw 
volunteers; but it seemed as if the veteran had 
undertaken a difficult and perplexing duty, for there 
was a shadow of annoyance upon his usually open, 
sunburnt countenance, and he once or twice spoke 
more sharply than was his wont, as he observed the 
inaccurate evolutions, and awkward handling of 
their weapons, by the little party he had undertaken 
to instruct. Bringing them once more into line, he 
again attempted to induce them to preserve a more 
soldierly bearing. 

“ Step out a little in the centre. So — so. Head 
erect, Somers; eyes steady and looking boldly 
forward — why shouldst thou cast them adown, as 
if thou hadst been sheep-stealing, and weit caught 
in the act] Out on thee, Wintle; thine seem to 
have a roving commission ; fix them, man. Keep 
the shoulders square, the chest thrown forward — 
thus! Very well. Silence! — ye are under martial 
law, now, and by my beard I will enforce it, an’ 


CLAIBORNE THE REREL. 


25 


ye preserve not filling order. Now, then— to the 
rieht — wheel ! Not so fast — preserve ye a stately 
gravity, becoming the dignity of your calling — 
more slower in the centre. Marvelously well ! 
Hold ! halt ! so, ye there, now. Where is the line 
I bade ye keep] — Had I wanted it bellied out thus, 
like a mainsail in a gale of wind, ye would have 
made me as many windings as there be in James 
River. — Ho, there, Master Forster, prythee assist 
me to instruct some of thy townsmen, here, in a 
few of the qualifications necessary to make a man 
bear arms worthily; for either they have wondrous 
little aptitude for the profession, or I am waxing 
old, and my patience grows not with my years ; — 
which last is perhaps more likely,” added the 
Ancient, good humoredly ; “so I would fain let 
them try what they can do under a younger spirit. 
Now, thy father was a soldier, and thou — ah me! 
I remember well when — 

“ I should be proud to undertake thy bidding, 
worthy Ancient,” said Forster, “ but I am even now 
under urgent command from — ” 

“ Enough,” interrupted the veteran ; silence is 
sometimes a proof of wisdom. Go thy ways, Ralph 
Forster, I would not bar thee from thy duty a single 
instant, — attention, men!” So saying, the Ancient 
turned and resum^’d his exercise. 

The young volunteer soon reached the gate, and 
had just cleared the crowd that was assembled 
around, w'hen a horseman somewhat stricken in 
years rode up to the entrance. It was Captain 
Branthwayte; and a finer specimen of the old 
cavalier, Forster thought he had never seen. The 
vi-nerable soldier was completely armed. A bufi’ 
jerkin covered his burnished steel breast-plate, the 
uniformity of its color being relieved by the gay 
silk sash that held his trusty rapier, and the bright 
gorget encircling his throat. His hose, of reddish 
brown color, were lost within the ample boots; the 
instep of the latter being crossed by broad leathern 
straps passing under the foot, and to which the 
spurs were attached. Instead of the morion, a drab 
broad-leaved Spanish beaver, surmounted by a 
black ostrich feather, shadowed his grey locks; the 
bat being turned up in front, and fastened by a 
jewelled button, giving a finish to his noble features 
that the naked but more warlike cap could not be- 
stow. 

“ Beshrew my heart. Master Forster,” said the 
cavalier, with a stately nod of recognition; “but it 
glads me to see thee so prompt in the service of the 
Proprietary. A gallant lookimr soldier, i’faith — 
such another was old Stephen Forster, thy father, 
in his young days. Thou art the son of an honest 
and a brave man ; see that thou provest not un- 
worthy of bearing his good name.” 

“ I will try, sir,” said the young soldier, modestly. 

“ Ha ! well said by my fay ; for, remember 
young man, that to try is to achieve.” 

Making a courteous salutation, the officer spurred 
through the gateway, and Forster resumed his 
walk. 

The latter found the city in a greater state of 
commotion than he had anticipated, from the few 
short hours he had been in garrison. Many of the 
shops were shut, and knots of idlers were gathered 
at the corners of the streets, or before the doors of 
their gossip.s, discussing with earnest and energetic 
gestures the numerous adventures of Claiborne, his 


personal ajipearance, and the cause and probable 
result of the pre-ent outbreak. With some the 
outlaw was evidently a favorite ; others, again, the 
graver and more thoughtful portion of the com- 
munity, saw in the rebel leader, the bold, bad, 
ambitious man he really was, and earnestly depre- 
cated any change, foreseeing full well that lawless 
adventurers, if successful, would not hesitate to 
appropriate to themselves, with the insolence of a 
strong band, the goodly havings of these whom the 
accidents of fortune, or a prosperous business had 
rendered wealthier than their brethren. On the 
other hand, the austere, bigoted and bloody-minded 
puritan hailed the advent of Claiborne as that of a 
second Gideon, the light of whose torches they 
prophesied would ero long glare upon his foes, 
while the swords of his followers dealt death and 
destruction upon all who were not of the true 
faith. 

The Presbyterian.s, with equal ardor, bestirred 
themselves to aid Claiborne in his enterpri.se ; for 
the wily rebel finding the two sects nearly balanced, 
had pitted one against the other, and entered imo a 
solemn agreenie.it, deceiving each with the prospect 
that his particular sect should hold sole and abso- 
lute rule in religious matters throughout the colony. 
As Forster passed along, his quick eye easilv de- 
tected the various feelings that actuated the different 
groups; and even had he failed in noting by iheir 
countenances, the broken sentences that at limes 
caught his ear, and their manner to himself as he 
drew near, would have given him a pretty accurate 
knowledge of the disposition evinced towards the 
existing government. The well affected greeted 
him with a smile, a passing “God save ye,” and 
an earnest wish that the Governor would quickly 
punish the insurgents and restore peace Ho the 
city. The more luke-warm glanced upon him 
coldly, without saying a word ; while of the rival 
sects, the puritans received him with a malignant 
scowl, muttering something between their teeth in 
which the downfall of Dagon, — She of Babylon, 
and Death on the Pale Horse, formed a strange and 
incoherent medley. The Presbyterians, less daring 
or more politic, wrapt themselves in the sufficiency 
of their own faith, and called to him as a wanderer 
from the flock to enter their fold before the eleventh 
hour should pass away and admittance be forever 
refused. Thus did the lips of these rash zealots 
murmur holy words, while evil thoughts and bloody 
minded designs crowded through their brain, or 
gleamed in triumph from their eyes. 

As Forster approached the well known Hostel of 
the Red Lion, he discovered an Indian girl sitting 
in a watchful attitude upon the steps of the porch ; 
and as he came near he observed that her eyes were 
riveted upon one of the windows of the edifice. 
His followed the same direction, but saw nothing to 
fasten them so intently on that particular spot. 
Presently, however, he heard a burst of victorious 
laughter, and the flushed face of a handsome young 
man, rather gaudily dressed, appeared at the window. 
The instant the girl saw him she sprang to her feet 
with a wild cry of joy, but the moment he with- 
drew, she sank back despondingly and resumed her 
former attentive posture. 

“Poor Neenah,” thought Forster, as he turned 
the corner of the street, little cares Arthur Corn- 
wallis for the devoted love of one so humble as 


36 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


tliou. His affections are shared between his dis- 
solute conoates and the Lily of St. Mary’s ; but 
heaven forcfend that the gentle child of good Cap- 
tain Branthwayte should link her fortunes to one 
so reckless as he. ’ 

The humble dwelling of Dame Whitaker was 
now in sight, and towards it the young volunteer 
bent his steps with a quicker pulse, and a stronger 
commotion about his heart than is felt by those 
whose visits are of a more friendly nature; and the 
brief stay he was about to make, coupled with the 
uncertainty at what time his newly assumed duties 
would again permit him to see Amy Roberts, in- 
vested his present leave-taking with a feeling of 
more than common interest. As he passed through 
the little wicket entrance to the garden, he was 
accosted by Hal Rugly, who was loitering in front 
of the house as if waiting the coming of some 
person. 

“ Ha ! Ralph Forster, and equipped for tbe wars ! 
By this hand ’lis none other than himself. Good 
fellow, Ralph,” continued the partizan, advancing 
nearer the young soldier and speaking with signifi- 
cant earnestness, “ a word or two in thine ear; I 
have a sneaking regard for thee, and though I know 
you think but lightly of such roisterers as myself, 
yet, as I have a habit of closely noting the signs of 
the times, and drawing from them such conclusions 
as I think they token, I will give thee a piece of 
advice. Return home peaceably, hang up your 
sword, and take down your gittern. Put on a flat 
cap and close fitting jerkin, and stir not in this 
quarrel which concerns not either thee nor me, for 
many is the tall fellow that will wish himself in 
russet shoes and plain serge doublet ere it is ended.” 

“ I thank thee,” replied Forster, coldly, “ my own 
feelings tell me I am doing my duty, and while I 
am satisfied they lead me right, I need no other 
monitor,” 

“ As thou wilt, as thou wilt,” returned Rugly ; 
“ I knew I might as well whistle to the wind as to 
seek to turn you from your purpose — yet still I 
have done what I said to myself I would do — given 
thee fair warning. Go on, go on, thou wilt have 
time enow’ to repent thy rashness, though perhaps 
the shrift will be too short to avail thee much.” 

“ What mean you, Hal Rugly, if you know any 
thing, speak out !” 

“ Oh, nothing — nothing,” said Rugly, swinging 
himself carelessly away, “ only my eyes are not 
sealed like a hawk’s in his mew; noram I wilfully 
blind, like you and a goodly number of our fellow 
townsmen here. I can see — I can see !” 

“Stop!” said Forster; “and now, Hal Rugly, 
let me tell you something. Mark me — your are 
knowm — you turn pale I” 

“ Me ! I — I — ” exclaimed Rugly, faltcringly and 
tvith a bewildered look. 

“ 1 say you are known to be ill affected towards 
the Governor.” Rugly breathed more freely and 
assumed something of an air of defiance. “And 
I would counsel you ta remain passive and curb the 
license of your speech, if you will not consent to 
take up arms in defence of the best interests of the 
colony, as every honest man should.” 

“Humph!” said Rugly, “then the fighting for 
the proprietary is to be the test of honesty in the 
colony. Heaven save the mark. A goodly time 


this, for rouges to recover their lost credit. Now I, 
who have hitherto been deemed indifferently honest, 
most, perforce I suppose, buckle on sw’ord and 
mount breastplate, or be scouted as a knave and a 
villain. A comfortable alternative to one who loves 
a bottle of good sack better than the sight of a 
drawn rapier, or the report of a discharged harque- 
buss. Well, let people call me as they will, 1 11 
none of it.” 

So saying, the partizan turned away with an 
indolent step, while Forster lifted the latch and 
entered the cottage. Scarcely had he crossed the 
threshhold, when surprised, chagrined, and disap- 
pointed, he drew back hastily with the intention of 
leaving the place; for seated by the side of Amy 
Roberts, with the free manners of one who felt 
assured he was not an unwelcome visiter, was a 
young man whose gay speech and gallant phrases 
were sadly marred by the forbidding character of his 
features, and the quick restlessness of his keen, 
dark eyes. Indeed, Forster, as he gazed upon his 
new-found rival thought he had never before beheld 
so villanous a looking countenance ; but as the 
areen-eyed monster may be supposed, in this in- 
stance at least, to have affected in some degree, the 
usually correct judgment of the young soldier, his 
estimate of the stranger’s personal disadvantages on 
the score of beauty, must be received with some 
grains of allowance. 

The dress of the stranger partook more of the 
sea than of the land, being of that mixed garb com- 
mon to those of that time, who considered them- 
selves fitted for either of the warlike professions ; 
the apparel of the one or of the other predominating 
according as the humor of the wearer inclined him 
to prefer either the life of the soldier or of the 
sailor. 

In the present instance, the latter was evidently 
the favorite profession. A tasseled cap of dark 
crimson silk, was placed jauntily sideways upon 
his head, from beneath which escaped a dark mass 
of curled black hair. The broad collar of his white 
shirt was thrown open and laid over a free fitting 
brown jacket, the latter being likewise flung abroad 
to display the light blue satin vest, braided with 
silver lace, and mounted with small round buttons 
of the same precious metal. A leather belt about 
his waist supported a heavy sword, and in some 
measure seemed to confine the loose voluminous 
trowsers that descended to the knee, and were there 
gathered up and fastened by silk strings, tagged or 
pointed with silver. The hose were brown, and 
worked at the ancles with silk of a lighter color ; 
add to these russet shoes, with dark roses upon the 
instep, and the costume will be found, however 
obsolete now, to have possessed at least the merit 
of being picturesque. There was an arch mis- 
chievous smile playing about the lips of Amy 
Roberts, and a merry twinkle in her bright hazel 
eyes, as with her head hanging down, yet inclining 
a little sideways ; she glanced furtively from beneath 
the long, half-closed lashes at her embarrassed 
visiter. This added not a little to his annoyance 
and half fortified Ralph in his resolution of instantly 
departing; but then, again, he thought by linger- 
ing a few minutes he might possibly gain some in- 
formation concerning the pre.sence of the stranger 
that would set his fears at rest, so he leaned against 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


27 


the recess of the window, and began very diligently. 
>0 pull to pieces a favorite flower belonging to 
Amy. 

“ Ralph — Ralph !” said she, quickly, “what are 
you doing V’ 

Forster started from his reverie, blushed, stam- 
mered, looked ruefully at the numerous fragments 
of leaves and petals scattered on the window-seat 
and about the floor, and then said, deprecatingly, 

“ In good truth, I crave thy pardon, Amy, I did 
not mean — indeed — indee<l, but ” 

“ The soldier fancied he was demolishing an 
enemy,” said the stranger with a sneer. 

“ Sir !” exclaimed Forster, now fully roused, and 
confronting the speaker. 

“ What, is that thee, Ralph Forster 1” cried Dame 
Whitaker, who was so intently engaged upon her 
knitting that she had not observed his entrance ; 
why, when did thee come in 1 Bring a chair and 
sit by me, I want to talk to thee.” 

“I have but little time to stay,” replied Forster, 
moving towards her ; “ but being called hence on 
duty, I concluded it would not do to depart without 
saying farewell.” 

“ Who goes with you ?” enquired Amy, with a 
heightened color, and looking more anxious than 
she would have wished F’orster to see. 

“ No one — I go alone !” 

“ Ha !” was the rapid involuntary exclamation 
of the stranger, and at the same moment the eyes 
of the young men met. 

'I'he seaman immediately rose from his seat, and 
as he did so, For>ter scanned him more curiously, 
for he began to have a dim perception of having 
seen him before, though where, and under what 
circumstances, he could not exactly bring to his 
memory. At length he recollected the scene in the 
barber’s shop, and revived in his own mind the 
features of Claiborne’s companion, and instantly 
was struck with the similarity ; and yet they differed 
materially. The one wore the garb and short cut 
hair of the puritan, while the costume and long 
clustering locks of the stranger, were strong 
evidences for doubting their identity. “And yet,” 
thought Forster, “ the face is so like.” 

The seaman seemed in no wise daunted by the 
earnest scrutiny of Amy’s suitor; but, as if merely 
supposing the latter was admiring the peculiar 
beauty of his garments, he said, in a light, careless 
manner — 

“ A gay vest, is it not? and daintily wrought. — 
There is a story about it that mayhap I could tell, 
were I in the mood, concerning the young senora 
who gave it me, — a dark, lustrous eyed wench, and 
beautiful, aye, gloriously beautiful. But I have not 
time now — so exercise thy patience awhile, Amy. 
Another day, if I feel in the humor.” 

“ Will ! tell Ralph Forster about the black-a- 
moors in Barbary, and how they deal with Christian 
folk. Lackaday, it is sorrowful to think there be 
such heathen wretches. For my part, I would hang 
’em all, or else convert them ; — tell him all about it. 
Will.” 

“ Why, d’ye see, aunt, we who go down to sea 
in ships, grow as wilful as the wind that checks or 
speeds our course. Now, belike. Master Fawcett 
here cares not to listen to the tale ; and if he do, my 
inclination steers not with his wishes.” 


“ An’ he w'aits till I ask him,” retorted Forster, 
“ his story will remain untold.” 

“A bold swoop for a kestrel,” replied the seaman, 
sarcastically, in the figurative phraseology of the 
age, when hawking formed the favorite pastime of 
noble and commoner. 

The kestrel fears not the game he flics at,” re- 
turned Forster, promptly. 

“ Have at you, then,” exclaimed the seaman, 
fiercely, as he unsheathed his weapon ; but Amy 
suddenly interposed. 

“ .Master Blundell,” said she, “ put up thy sword. 
This disrespect to thy kinswomen, after so long an 
absence, is but a poor return for the kindness with 
which they have greeted thee; and thou, Ralph,” 
she added, in a tone of subdued earnestness, “ be- 
lieve me, that of all men a brawler is the most dis- 
reputable.” 

“ Ah me, M’ill Blundell,” said the old lady, with 
a melancholy shake of the head, “ thee was ever a 
wild youth, and I am afraid the Black. a-moors have 
not improved thy temper. Only think, Ralph, of 
his being a captive among the black-a-moors for 
fourteen long years. 

The Moors of Barbary, you mean, aunt,” said 
Amy. “ Well, well, it is the same thing; we all 
know how barbarous they are ; I only wonder they 
did not eat him.” 

A wi'h that they had done so, passed through 
Forster’s mind, but he said nothing. 

“ Fair Amy,” said the seaman, with a constrained 
show of gallantry, “ the ocean and the Moorish land 
are rough schools for a man to study courtesy in ; 
and though 1 have been tutored somewhat by the 
gay damsels of New Spain, yet there is much more 
I would willingly learn, if you w.mld be my 
teacher.” 

“ The restraining of one’s passions need no 
teacher but a firm resolution,” was Amy’s evasive 
reply. 

“And a rebuke now and then from the pretty lips 
of a gentle cousin,” he answered, with a light laugh. 
“ Fare ye well, I must leave ye for a little while ; 
when I come back, you shall give me the first 
lesson.” 

Brushing past Forster, on whom he bestowed a 
malignant scowl that reminded the latter of the 
face he had seen through the barber’s window, the 
seaman signaled Hal Rugly, and strode quickly up 
the street. 

“ Set all sail,” said he to the partisan ; “ that 
blustering young springald, I shrewdly suspect, is 
about to be the bearer of some despatches. We 
must overhaul them, if it be so.” 

“ But what said the old lady ?” 

“ Oh she takes me for a trusty messmate of mine, 
one Will Blundell, a daring fellow', and a rare sea- 
man. Poor Will! he was slain by the accursed 
Spaniards — may the foul fiends torture them for it.” 

“ As how ?” 

“ Why, Will had found his way, together with 
some of his comrades, into one of their churches, and 
thinkit)g that the silver candlesticks and divers other 
gauds were of marvelous fine workmanship, they 
had taken them down to examine them more closely, 
having a singular taste in such matters; when lo! 
the doors were burst open, and Will, with two 
1 others, fell victims to their inordinate curiosity. — 


28 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


But.” and the seaman’s features wore lighted with I 
a glow of savage ferocity, “ I avenged them.” 

“ So then you aid Claiborne in his present enter- 
prise, to secure his protection from tlie far reaching 
arm of the Spaniard 1” 

“ Protection !” exclaimed the seaman, scornfully. 

“ Treading the planks of mine own deck, I would 
dare the arch enemy himself. Protection forsooth ! 

I have a blow to strike — a vow to fulfil, and be he 
Claiborne, or be he Devil, so that he helps me to 
mine end, what reck I ]” 


CHAPTER IX. 

But few words were exchanged between the 
seaman and his associate, as they thridded (he less 
frequented stn'els, on their way to the dwelling of 
the latter. Once, indeed, Blundell, as he called 
himself, turned to the partisan, after a few minutes 
moody silence, and asked abruptly — 

“ That Fawcett, who is he I” 

“ Forster, I sufipose you mean 1 A citizen here, 
shrewd, but hot-headed. He hath volunteered, I 
find, in the service of the governor ; — take heed he 
cross not your path, for he hath a quick eye and a 
steady hand.” 

“ Let the fool look to that, or a bullet and a short 
shrift may be his portion.” 

They had now reached the outskirts of the city, 
and were cfossing the end of the main street, where 
the houses were principally of the meaner sort, and 
those but few and straggling. 

To the right lay the open country, dotted here 
and there in the distance by neat farm houses, 
around which the fields of grain were already ac- 
quiring the rich, golden hue which betokens the 
period of approaching harvest. Large herds of 
cattle were quietly grazing in the pasture lands 
bordering upon the St. Mary’s river, and also upon 
the wide reach of common land immediately front- 
ing the city. A few pleasure boats, with their 
white sails glancing in the sun, and reflected in the 
bright waters, added to the beauty of the picture ; 
the larger craft being seen carefully moored below. 

On the left of the seaman and his companion, 
rose the dark, majestic, and apparently interminable 
forest, in all its primeval grandeur; extending itself 
brokenly across the front, so that between the in- 
tervals, the eye caught glimpses of green meadows 
and go'den fields stretching far away beyond. 

U|)on neither of the two, however, did the love- 
liness of the view create any impression, although 
the effect was aided by the freshness of the vegeta- 
tion, the halminess of the morning air, and the 
deep, clear blue of the cloudless sky. Yet both of 
them had hailed momentarily, as if by common 
consent. Rugly looked b tck upon the busy groups 
sprinkled along the street, even to the very gate of 
the fort, while the seaman leaned against the decay- 
ing trunk of an old chestnut tree, and permitted his 
eye to w’ander over the whole scene before him. — 
Presently his aspect and attitude changed. He was 
now all eager observation — the body was bent for- 
ward. the neck extended, the mouth half open, the 
eyes riveted, and shaded by the palm of the right 


hand, the left being thrust back, to beckon' the 
partisan to his side. 

“ What, ho, messmate ! — hither ! Give a steady 
look where my finger points, and tell me if you see 
any thing.” Ruglv did as desired, and then an- 
swered with an indifference that contrasted strongly 
with the other’s excitement — 

“Nothing, unless it be an old scathed tree, with 
its solitary arm flung out, which I suppose you 
mistake for a man. — I was once or twice deceived 
in the sante way. It is naught else, believe me.” 

“St. Nicholas!” exclaimed the seaman, impet- 
uouslv ; “were you on the look out in a stiff gale, 
with the shore s)mewhere under our lee, I would 
not give a maravedi for the chances of salvation. — 
Who sails with us, must have the eyes of the eagle 
and the scent of the vulture, else how, — but look 
there, far down the road, beyond the tree you speak 
of — see you 0011 ” 

*• I do see something — a cloud of dust, raised by 
the wind, perhaps.” 

“ Indeed I” sneered the seaman, with unmixed 
contempt for the stolidity of his companion, “ in- 
deed, see, here !” He detached a small quantity of 
down from a thistle growing beside him, and flung 
it in the air; it fell slowly, without deviating in the 
least, until it reached the ground. “ What should 
make wind yonder, when you find there is none 
here 1 or how comes it in that quarter 1 A little 
mother wit, Master Rugly, is at times a marvelous 
help to a man ; while the want of it leaves him open 
to mischances and foul disasters that may make a 
work of years to recover from. Look again !” 

“You are right — there are horsemen spurring 
furiously. They are coming this way — four of 
them. Ha! they ride abreast now. Tush! it is 
but a race, after all.” 

“Only a race ! Were you one of the two fore- 
most, if a score of Ave Mary’s escaped you not, it 
would be by reason of fear having overmastered 
memory. A race! — aye, such a trial of speed as 
may be between the brigantine Free Rover, and the 
merchandizing galleon ; or a stag of ten with the 
black hounds of St. Hubert — dost understand!” 

“ Thinkest thou that — ” 

“ Think I,” interrupted the seaman ; “ one whose 
eye hath searched the wide ocean, and watched 
ship after ship rise up on the horizon’s verge, spar 
by spar, until the complete hull stood boldly visible, 
can have but little difficulty in making out the 
character of yonder fierce riders. Lo ! how they 
come thundering this way. Hark ! the pursuers 
have fired a pistol — said I not! said I not! — A 
signal to bring to.” 

“ They heed it not,” said Rugly, now getting as 
much interested in the chase as his associate. 

“ Not they, indeed ! but ply whip and spur with 
redoubled vigor. That shot was bad policy, — it 
may alarm others to the rescue. At sea, where the 
glance can sweep the whole face of the waters, it 
matters not ; but here it Holy Paul !” he sud- 

denly exclaimed, as he, for the fir.«!t time, caught, 
clearly defined, the figure of the nearest fugitive, 
“ Holy Paul, the foremost is a woman !” 

“ A woman !” echoed Rugly. 

“ Aye, and he in the rear is her follower— atten- 
dant or what you will — a forester hy his garb and 
the coteau de chaste at his side. They press him 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


29 


closely, see, he looks hurriedly back! — One is 
near to him — a sudden thought strikes him — his 
hand is upon his weapon — bravely done — he stands ' 
at bay — he fights desperately — ha! a coward act — 
the second one passeth at full speed after the lady 
striking the fore.^ter down by a side blow that 
would have felled an ox. Both are now in full cry 
again.” 

“ Wo be to thee hapless lady !” ejaculated Rugly 
with a sudden show of commiseration. 

“What is it to usl” exclaimed the seaman, 
recklessly. 

“Mother of God — it is she!” cried Rugly in 
great agitation, “ 1 will save her at the peril of my 
life — no ruffian touch shall harna the Lily of Sit. 
Mary’s.” 

“ What fool’s whim is thisi” said the seaman, 
sharply, as his strong grasp arrested the progress of 
the partizan. “ Quietly, master Rugly ; these men 
are of Claiborne’s party, and your confederates 
have a warrant doubtless for what they do. If you 
advance one step to the rescue of that wench, by 
the dark sea but that moment shall find my sword 
point in your heart,” 

Thus enforced, Rugly fell back with a “quivering 
lip, watching with more interest than ever, the 
struggle between the pursuers and the pursued, 
muttering, brokenly as he did so — 

“ A burning shame — so good — all speak well of 
her — the pride of the city — what can she have 
done, the dear distressed lady 1 I will break with 
them an’ they mend not their ways. God help her, 
the horse flags — They are close up ! — oh that I 
could — mercy ! mercy ! He with the plumed 
beaver rides neck and neck — they near the wood — 
will she enter! try, lady, try — he flings himself on 
the other side to prevent her — he reaches out his 
arm — Mother of God, what was that !” A brilliant 
gleam flashed in the sunlight, and the man flung 
his arms wildly out and fell heavily to the earth. 

“ Cleft to the chin, by Hell !” was the deep 
imprecation of the seaman, and presently a horse- 
man, with a score of troopers, rode out from the 
shadow of the forest. The remaining rider seeing 
his comrade fall, dashed aside the branches and dis- 
appeared, followed by half a dozen of the soldiers. 
I’o arrest the steed of the lady was the work of an 
instant, but with the knowledge of her safety her 
already overtasked strength gave way, and she fell 
fainting into the arms of her preserver. 

The townsmen had now caught the alarm, and 
as they hurried up, the seaman and Rugly with 
great apparent zeal, placed themselves at their head 
and incited the burgesses to quicken their steps. 

“ On, my good masters, on,” said the part zan’s 
companion, increasing his stride with well feigned 
alaciify, 

“ The murderous villains ! — an’ it had not been 
that you said it was but a sporten race,” he con- 
tinued, turning with great resentment upon Rugly, 
“ the bullying scoundrels would have measured the 
length of my good blade — wherefore did you 
this?” 

“ I thought so, indeed I thought so !” cried Rugly, 
seriouslv alarmed lest the citizens should suppose 
him guilty of an intent to mislead. 

“It matters not,” said the seaman, calmly, 
“ though I mis-doubted from the first. Yet you see. 


my masters, thinking that a landsman should know 
more of these tilings than myself, I gave up my 
own judgment for his ; nay, cheer up master Ruglv, 
we all blunder at times. Now you, mine host of 



“ I should not marvel, if in the press of business 

you sometimes scored twice for a single draught 

by mistake I mean of course.” 

“ Ho, ho!” laughed the jovial publican puffiing 
and blowing between whiles, from the effect of such 
unwarranted exertion, “ soft, you there, sir strangi r, 
a point of honor — a point of honor !” 

“ I see, I see, messmate,” returned the seaman in 
the sarue light, taunting tone, “a sensitive con- 
science; tut, man. how couldst thou have gatheied 
that load of flesh but by the extra scores which are 
the perquisites of thy office ?” 

“ Ho, ho, ho !” roared the publican, bestowing at 
the same time a merry, roguish, knowing look upon 
the wily seaman ; “ twit me not — twit me not ! 
honest Joe Halsy meddles not with such matters. 

A plague on all trickeries say I, the vocation is a 
good one though there be knaves who cast a re- 
proach upon It — by this hand, sir, I score indiffer- 
ently fair and pay duties to the proprietary.” 

“ When thou canst not get wines without. 
What say ye, now,” said the seaman with a sly 
nudge of the other’s elbow ; “ if I could point you 
where a small cargo of choice wines is stowed away 
without saying by your leave to him of the Castle 
yonder.” 

“ Where is it lad? — where is my dainty Nep- 
tune, my sea Bacchus — tell me I pry thee, where?” 

“ Hush, thou shall know anon — peace, here are 
the troopers ; not a word of what I have told thee.” 

Pressing his finger upon his lip, the jovial host 
mingled with the rest of the company, though not 
without casting, now and then, a fidgetty glance 
towards the seaman, for fear lest the latter should 
depart without disclosing his secret. 

Under the tender and judicious care of the young 
officer, the fair girl was soon restored to conscious- 
ness. Agonizing indeed were his first feelings as 
she lay upon his knee, pale, cold, and apparently 
lifeless. “ Oh God,” thought he, “ is this to be the 
end of all I have dreamed and hoped? Must she, 
too, whom I have nursed as a child — culled flowers 
for as a playmate, and loved in after years with a 
devotion loo deep for vvords — must she be called 
off in the spring of her youth, and in the full bloom 
of her excelling beauty ? — She, the loved of all 
hearts. Lily !” he exclaimed aloud, “ dear Lilv, 
look up, it is your Sidney — your old play-fello"w 
who sjieaks. Good Enoch haste thee and bring 
some water in thy morion from the river — speeu, 
speed for your life.” 

The man did as commanded, and in a short time 
the maiden opened her fair blue eyes and gazed 
around her in utter momentary btw Iderment, and 
a fervent ejaculation escaped the lips of her pre- 
server, when he found the lamp of life was only 
obscured, not dashed out for ever. The presence 
of so many mute, enquiring faces, caused the crim- 
s(m blood to mantle the pale cheek of the maiden 
with blushes ; but it did not escape the bold, search- 
ing gaze of the seaman, that, as she rose from her 
recumbent posture, and leaned upon the arm of 


30 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


Trevor, her eyes were timidly upraised to his, and 
spoke a mute language expressive of a feeling more 
fervid than the wannest gratitude. Perhaps the | 
young officer thought so too, for a bright smile sue- I 



tarily folded her closer to his heart. 

Meanwhile, the troopers had not been idle. 
Under the guidance of Enoch Thruston, the lance 
prisade of the party a litter of green boughs was 
constructed, and the maiden beiiig placed thereon, 
with Trevor standing at her right hand, the caval- 
cade took up the line of march toward the city. 

Before, however, these operations were completed 
and pending, the recovery of the Lily of St. Mary’s, 
as she was affectionately called, Rugly had taken an 
opportunity of stepping aside and turning over, with 
his foot, the dead body of the ruffian in whose 
blood-stained and distorted features he instantly 
recognized one of Claiborne’s men, as the seaman 
had foretold. Rugly’s resentment against the latter, 
for the trick played off upon him, had not yet sub- 
sided ; but the fear lest anything should transpire 
which might lead to the detection of his traitorous 
dealings with the rebel leader, either by the capture 
of the man who had fled, or by any other unfor- 
seen accident, induced him to suppress his moody 
humor and seek to withdraw his associate from a 
scene where danger might unexpectedly frown 
them in the face. Having come to this conclusion, 
he warily touched the elbow of his companion, 
who with the utmost nonchalance, was breaking his 
rude jests upon all around, and said in a low voice, 

“ Come away — this is no place for us — Dare 
Devil Oakley lies yonder stark and stiff, and Clai- j 
borne has lost in him one of the fiercest blood 
hounds in his whole pack.” 

Before the seaman could reply, the ponderous 
host of the Red Lion came waddling up with as 
much anxiety depicted on his countenance as the 
impassive character of his face would allow of being 
shown. 

“ Body o’ me !” said he, “ thou art not going my 
pleasant merman — my pearl of the ocean” — and 
then added in a whisper, “ hast forgot thy promise] 
Thou shalt touch gold for thy cargo — rare, broad 
pieces — so home with me and let us settle the mat- 
ter over a flagon of the best. Ods fish! master 
Rugly, I was oblivious. Persuade me this gallant 
gentleman to join you in honoring my house with 
his company. A man after my own heart, honest i 
Hal, full of girds and quips, and right merry con- I 
ceits. A stranger too; but i’ faith we’ll have a' 
rouse to better acquaintance, what say you, Hal 1 
shall ’t be lad !” 1 

“ The gentleman is of age and hath a ready | 
tongue,” replied the partizan, dryly, “doubtless he 
will answer for himself ; besides,” he added, “ we 
know too little of each other to make what I might 
say of any weight with him.” 

“ Ho, ho, ho !” cried the jovial host, with a curi- 
ous twist of the mouth ; “ a sly dog, Hal — a sly 
dog — honor bright though. So I ’ll e’en think thou 
k nowest him not, and crave thee to assist me in 
tendering him the hospitality of St. Mary’s. He 
of the Bells, ray sea-bacchus, would have seen 
thee hanged ere he had done this much.” 

“I shall steer clear, then, of the surly philan- 
thropist,” rejoined the seaman, with a light laugh. 


“ Ho, ho, ho !” screamed the jolly inkeeper, hold- 
ing his fat shaking sides ; “ if thou lovest me, Hal 
Rugly, put thy hand before Neptune’s mouth, he 
will be the death of me.” 

“ A truce to this,” said the seaman, “ master 
Halsy we will meet you at sunset, and then try if 
there be virtue in a bottle of thy brewing. Not a 
word,” seeing the other was about to speak, “ be- 
fore this we cannot come — depend on it we shall 
not fail you.” 

“ Stay a moment, sir mariner said the publican, 
“ I would caution thee in one particular. Go not 
near him of the Bells. He is an arrant knave, be- 
lieve me. A dealer in sour claret and filthy washes, 
which he imposes upon the witless and the way- 
farer, to the lasting scandal of the profession.” 

“ Now, then, master Rugly, I am ready,” said 
the seaman, as soon as the host had retired ; but 
the partizan, during the other’s colloquy with the 
{ innkeeper, had been weighing in his own mind the 
dangerous risk he ran in being seen in company 
with so reckless an associate ; for the furtive glances 
j bestowed on the latter by one or two of the towns- 
j men, seemed to the apprehensive mind of Rugly to 
imply a doubt as regarded the exact lawfulness of 
the seaman’s calling. Accordingly, after having 
walked some distance from the throng, he halted, 
and confronting his companion, said bluntly, 

“ Master Blundell, or whomsoever you call your- 
self, it is time we should part company. Thou 
hast already jeopardized my life once this morning, 
and I care not thou shouldst do it again. — So 
choose your path, and while you take the one, the 
other shall be mine.” 

“ Why, what’s i’ the wind now 1” cried the sea- 
man, opening his dark eyes in the utmost astonish- 
ment. “ What qualm is this] — Speak out, and 
quickly.” 

“ It is no qualm,” said the other, doggedly, “ but 
a prudent forethought, not to entangle me in your 
business, from which I augur naught but evil to 
myself and thee.” 

“ Look you, Master Rugley,” said the seaman, 
with stern emphasis, laying his hand upon the 
other’s arm, and closing it there with a vice-like 
grip; while the partisan saw, from the lowering of 
his features, that he had raised a devil he could 
not lay, “ we do not part so easily ; I was placed 
under your convoy by Claiborne. He trusts you ; 
so will not I. We are sworn confederates in the 
same cause, and my confederate you shall be. 
And mark ye !” added the seaman, drawing close, 
and lisping in the ear of his shrinking companion. 
“ Hint but a word — give but a look that may lead 
to the knowledge of who I am, or -what I am ; and 
though I be in my death agony, you shall not 
escape my vengeance.” 

“ \rou know you are safe with me,” said Rugly, 
gloomily. 

“ I will make myself so,” responded the other. 

“ But why did you seek to injure me,” continued 
the partisan, reproachfully, “ by what you said to 
the townsfolk, when you saw that gabbling old do- 
tard Clipton, the barber, among them]” 

“Thou ass! — thou dullard! — thou lack-evil!” 

“Civil words. Will Blundell.” 

“ Saw thou not that was a master stroke ] They 
I had noted us looking idly on, without stirring a 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


31 


foot to aid that pale faced wench, or her lubberly 
servant; and what think you would have been 
their thought, had I not offered some reason for 
our want of zeal] Go to — you ought to thank 
me.” 

“For shifting the burthen from thine own 
shoulders on to mine — a good occasion for thanks.” 

“Come — come, no more of this. — But who are 
these ]” 

“ The governor, and a party of horse from the 
castle, as I live!” ejaculated Rugly. 

“ Ha !” exclaimed the seamen, and while the 
blood rushed up into his swarthy face, and his 
hand glided into his breast in search of a concealed 
weapon, he muttered between his clenched teeth — 
“ ’T is he — what hinders me now from bringing 
him down, and so requiting blood for bleod 1” 

“ Stop, for God’s sake !” cried Rugly, turning 
deadly pale. “ We should be torn in pieces!” 

“Idiot! fool!” exclaimed the other, glaring at 
the affrighted partisan. “ Beware hov» you again 
come between me and my vow.” 

“ Look ! look ! They are speaking of us. — 
What shall we do 1” 

“ Do !” echoed the other, striding daringly 
forward. “ Follow me — plunge into the midst of 
them, and — do you hear — give them glance for 
glance.” 

The foraging party, with their fair invalid, halted 
until the detachment headed by the Governor 
arrived, when, the latter having formed in the rear, 
the march recommenced. 

Scarcely had the noble commander time to 
express his joy at finding the maiden safe and un* 
injured, before a horseman, bare-headed, with his 
whim locks streaming to the wind, burst impetu- 
ously through the crowd, exclaiming — 

“ My daughter ! — Speak ! — Is she well ] — Is she 
hurt]” 

Not a hair of her blessed head touched !” said 
some one near. 

“Now, God be praised !” ejaculated the veteran, 
with uplifted eyes and clasped hands, and then, 
overcome with excess of emotion, his head sunk 
upon his breast, and he would have fallen from his 
saddle, had not several of the company run forward 
and supported him. 

In an instant the Governor was in the midst ; 
but the strength of the old cavalier had rallied 
almost as soon, and he said, with a faint smile, and 
th-e familiarity which his years, and the ties of blood 
admitted — 

“ Thou seest, Leonard, I am getting childish in 
mine old age ; and laugh, and cry — am stout, or 
feeble, just as a feather shall turn the nicely poised 
machine. — Alas ! I fear me I shall take to toys and 
baby-houses next.” 

“ A weighty feather, the safety of an only child, 
cx)usin Branthwayte,” replied the Governor, kindly, 
“ But there is no cause for alarm ; the Lily is well, 
as thine own eyes shall see.” So saying, the two 
rode together to the litter, and the march recom- 
menced. 

“ Thou hussy ! — Thou baggage !— Thou good- 
for-naught!” were the first salutations bestowed by 
Capt. Branthwayte upon his daughter; veiling 
under words of unmeant bitterness, his own deep 
feelings of joy at her recovery. “ Why dost thou 


leave home without proper escort — where was 
Langton, or Copely, or dimonds the knave V* 

“ Chide them not, dear sir; they did accompany 
me, until, deeming all danger past, I sent them 
back, retaining only Simonds, who, I regret to hear, 
was wounded in my defence.” 

“ Not dangerously, cousin,” rejoined the Gover- 
nor. “ The man is severely hurt, but not so as to 
effect loss of life, or even limb, with care.” 

“The gallant fellow !” muttered the old veteran. 

“ So he stood by the Lily, did he ] And exchanged 
blows with the cut-throat, ha ] Well — well, if he 
lives — and he shall live !” he added, energetically ; 
but immediately lowered his voice, and continued, 
reverentially, “That is, please God ! — If he lives, 
he shall have Green Hill Plantation, well stocked, 
and a hundred pounds in money. — There, Leonard, 
let the doctor tell him that; and if it prove not bet- 
ter to him than pill, or bolus, laugh at me, and call 
me false prophet. But the knaves ! — the vilianous 
scoundrels ! — What of them ]” 

“ One of them escaped,” replied Trevor ; “ but 
the other lies at the edge of the wood, yonder.” 

“There let him rot!” said the cavalier, with a 
callousness foreign to his nature. 

“Nay; not so, cousin,” replied the Governor, 
mildly. “The poor wretch hath already paid a 
stern accompt for whatever misdeeds he may have 
committed. It would ill become us. as Christian 
gentlemen, to harbor rancorous feelings against the 
body of him whom justice hath overtaken. Shall 
we flout the clod when the spirit is departed ]” 

“ Your Excellency is right,” replied the veteran. 
“ But the feelings of the father were stronger than 
those of the Christian.” 

Gathering in numbers as it approached the city, 
when the procession entered the main street half 
the population were either in attendance upon the 
litter, or were assembled at the doors, or upon the 
foot-walks ; for the safety of the gentle girl, who 
had been affectionately designated the Lily of St. 
Mary’s, seemed to elicit the sympathy of all classes ; 
and even those that were disaffected towards the 
existing government, from the rude wassailer, to 
the bigoted religionist, though they looked with cold 
eye and lowering brow upon the Governor, as he 
rode along, bowing kindly to the hearty greetings of 
his friends — yet, to Mary Branthwayte, as to one 
whom none disliked, but all loved, they uncovered 
their heads in token of respect. 

“ Of a truth she is a comely virgin,” remarked a 
tall, spare personage, habited in grave, close fitting 
garments, with a falling band, and high conical hat ; 
“ and report speaketh favorably of her manifold vir- 
tues. But — 

“Yea, verily, Brother-grace-befall Cripps. — 
“ But, as thou wouldst have said, is she not an in- 
dweller of the tents of Kedar, and of the kin of yon 
malignant Captain of the Host, who would fain 
tread out the blood of the Lord’s people, even as 
grapes are trodden in the wine press in the season 
of the vintage ]” 

“ ‘ The earth is the Lord’s, and the fulness 
thereof,’” responded Cripps. “Wherefore — ” 

“ Wherefore, as thou wouldst say,” responded 
the zealot, “ wherefore then is it that the saints are 
but as strangers within the gates, in the land which 
should be their own — even in the land of the 


32 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


Heathen 1 — So. you. now — hearken unto my voice, 
and give ear unto my words; even unto the words 
of Zedekiah Hullev, a weak ves^el — ” 

*• Nay, brother Hutley ” interru()ted Cripps; — 
“ not a weak vessel ; say rather a burning and a 
shining light.’' 

“I say a weak vessel,” said the zealot, in tones 
of humility, while dogmatic arrogance was marked 
in every line of his bloated countenance; “ a feeble 
instrument, made strong throuirh faith only. But 
be of good cheer, brother, the sutl’ering saints do hut 
a .vait the coming of one who hath promised to do 
battle with the spoilers — when ‘the stall’ of the 
wicked shall be broken, and the sceptre of the rulers 
and the oppressors shall be smitten in wrath with a 
a continued stroke — ’ but of th's must no man speak, 
save unto his brother, until the pitcher is in frag- 
ments, and the shout heard, and the torch lighteth 
the darkness.” 

“ Such were the words of the good brother 
Smooth-the-way,” responded Cripps. 

“A chosen vessel is the worthy Ephraim 
S nooth-the-way,” responded Hutley, with a patron- 
izing air. “I have spoken with the young man 
touching the vanities of this life, and have sucked 
wisdom from his lips. — A child, bifilher Cripps, in 
worldly ways — a very child ; but in the knowledge 
of the true faith, a sage in whom there is no guile. 
I have weighed him in the balance, and he hath 
not been found wanting.” 

“ By your leave, my maste-^s, I must have one 
look at the Lily, bless her dear heart !” was the ex- 
clamation of the fat widow Watkins, as she uncere- 
moniously thrust herself between the speakers, for 
t!ie purpose of gaining a more commanding posi- 
tion. 

“ Avaunt thee, Sathanus !'’ cried the zealot, in- 
dignantly. 

“ Get thee behind me !” said Grace-befall-Cripps. 

“ Hoity ! toity !” said the fiery widow. “Who 
are you, my masters, that you ruffle it so? — ‘Get 
thee behind me,’ eh ? Indeed, I shall do no such 
thing; an’ ye do not move instantly, I will serve 
ye as I did good Anas Todkill last Christmas day ; 
and though that was in sport, this shall be in right 
earnest, I warrant ye. 

“Gossip Clipton,” she cried to the barber’s wife, 
who was leaning out of the window across the 
street; “ Gossip Clipton, throw me the broom-stick 
thit Master Clipton loves so much; I will return it 
anon.” 

“ Pass on, woman, in God’s name,” said the 
puritan, stepping aside, followed by his companion, 
both of whom seemed fully aware, from the stand 
the sturdy widow had taken, that any further re- 
sistance on their part, let the matter end as it might, 
must redound to their discredit. But the dame 
seemed determined not to let them off so easily. — 
I'he widow’s humorous request of the w-ell known 
barber’s shrewish wife, attracted a number of the 
crowd to the spot, all laughingly disposed ; and the 
choice of a dozen weapons were offered her in- 
stantly. 

“Now,” said she, “you would not make way 
upon a civil asking, so it were but right you should 
now beg my pardon for your rudeness.” 

A merry as ent from the lookers on caused the 
puritans to look uneasily about them, in the hope 


of finding some way to escape ; and aid was nearer 
than they expected, for the seaman, Blundell, at 
this moment broke through the crowd, with — 

“ Avast ye, avast ye ! what storms a brewing ?” 
w’hen seeing his associates in dar ger, his quick wit 
readily suggested a means of release. Pointing to 
a horseman in the distance, be continued — “ Why 
stand ye here, see ye not that Claiborne’s men are 
coming? Away! away!” 

Had a thunderbolt fell among the group, they 
could not have dispersed quicker than at the sound 
of that dreaded name; they looked around, and 
finding that, during the altercation, the main body 
of the procession had disappeared, they flew at once 
in every direction, as fast as fear could carry them; 
and in a few minutes none were near, except the 
two puritans, the seaman, and Rugly. 

“ Why do ye not fly, my friends ?” said the sea- 
man to the zealots, who were looking at him with 
surprise depicted in their faces, “ do ye not dread 
the rebel?” 

“ We are in the hollow of His hand,” replied 
Hutley, hypocritically casting his eyes upwards, as 
he stalked slowly away; while Cripps lingered, 
looked back at the seaman, and then said, in a low 
tone, to his companion — 

“ As the Lord liveth, the young man is very like 
Ephraim Smooth-the-way.” 

“ Now,” said Blundell, as he laughed heartily at 
the success of his stratagem, “ now to meet this 
Master Fawcett.” 

“ You are toe late,” said Rugly, “ it was him you 
pointed at.” 


CHAPTER X. 

Wb must now introduce our reader to a per- 
sonage whose name has already figured once or 
twice in these pages. Master John Dandie, one of 
the earliest settlers of the colony, was also one of 
its earliest malcontents; and yet had he been asked 
the reason of his dissatisfaction, he would have 
found it difficult to answer rightly ; except that, like 
many others, he had grown testy and querulous, 
from not finding the newly discovered continent as 
pictured by report, an El Dorado, where gold and 
silver were as abundant as common earth, and pre- 
cious stones as plentiful as in England were the 
berries of the hawthorn. Perhaps another and more 
powerful reason was at the bottom of his dislike. — 
Being of a rude and turbulent disposition, he had 
imagined that in a primitive country the laws, to 
which he had hitherto paid a constrained deference, 
would either be loosely administered, or fail alto- 
gether in their operation ; and that a strong hand, 
coupled with a resolute will, would enable their pos- 
sessor to follow the bent of his wildest inclinations, 
unchecked by any superior authority. Disappointed 
as he was, with the asjrect and resources of the 
country to which he had emigrated, he perceived, 
with still greater chagrin, that the regulations laid 
down by the proprietary were strictly enforced, 
though in so mild and considerate a manner, as 
caused the majority of the people to observe them 
With chteriul obedience, while to Lis wayward hu- 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


33 


mor, those very characteristics only made them the 
more galling. 

Finding he was neither to become so wealthy, or 
so important an individual as he aspired to be, he 
took every opportunity of railing, in no measured 
terms, against the Proprietary and his officers; and 
so long as he contented himself with simply venting 
his spleen against the existing rulers, his conduct 
passed uncensured by those in authority ; but no 
sooner did he seek to instil disaffection into the 
breasts of others, and take upon himself to become 
the head of an organized party, than he was seized, 
under the operation of the law he had violated, and 
mulcted in a fine, which, though inconsiderable in 
itself, was sufficient intimation to him that he would 
not be permitted to exercise open hostility, and 
escape with impunity. Unfortunately, the very act 
which should have silenced, achieved for him that 
distinction which he would have found difficult of 
attainment otherwise. Ignorant minds among the 
colonists, who mistook justice for persecution, looked 
upon the headstrong stubbornness of the noisy 
smith, for such was his vocation, as a noble exhibi- 
tion of Roman firmness; and under the auspices of 
these men. Master John Dandie, who, in times less 
pregnant with the elements of change, would have 
passed for a rash, blustering demagogue, was 
gradually exalted to the station of an oppressed 
patriot. 

Notwithstanding the approbation of a certain 
class, the smith felt, from the cold, formal, and sus- 
picious greetings of the more respectable citizens, 
that he was a disgraced man ; and, with this feeling, 
sprang up a hatred of the Proprietary, that lapse of 
years could not allay. The dubious popularity he 
had acquired was, however, sufficient to elect him 
a member of the council, where the measured cau- 
tiousness of his conduct led many to believe he was 
beginning to have a more favorable opinion of the 
government than he had hitherto entertained. 

Leonard Calvert, however, was not one to be 
easily deceived. He noted that the smith had cau- 
tiously removed a short distance into the country, 
apparently applying himself most earnestly in his 
vocation, but there were some who spoke of night 
riders, and strange voices, at the house of Dandie ; 
concerning whom vague reports, from time to time, 
reached the castle, but nothing sufficiently definite 
to warrant any decisive action being taken in the 
matter. 

The dwelling and smithy of Dandie were situate 
about two miles from St. Mary’s, at a point where 
the road to St, Inigoes was traversed by several 
others, leading to the various plantations of the 
settlers. 

The house was in no wise different from those 
in the city, having the same uncouth projection or 
overlapping of the upper story ; its gable, as with 
the others, being to the front. The square windows 
being composed of small panes of glass, cut diamond 
wise, and inserted into their leaden frames, the lat- 
ter being themselves supported by an outer frame 
of iron. 

The smithy, standing a few paces from the house, 
was a low, dark, oblong building, wdth a covered 
shed at one end, called pent-house, and customarily 
used for the reception of horses, during the preva- 
lence of rainy weather. 

^ LIBRARY 

OF THE 

8UP.'.COUl4CIL» 

8d.*JURISDICTION* 


On the morning that succeeded Claiborne’s ap- 
pearance at St, Mary’s, Dandie had commenced 
work as usual, aided by his son Dickon, a stout, 
thick-set youth, with overhanging eyebrows, the 
very counterpart of his father ; and assisted by two 
loutish serving men, of whom little need be said, 
except that one was a German, and the other an 
Englishman, and both with their long, shaggy'hair, 
beards thin, grim, unwashed faces, dull, heavy, 
sleepy eyes, and coarse garments, looked more like 
wild creatures than men who had been nurtured in 
a Christian country ; and being equally brutish of 
manners and speech, they presented, in their own 
persons, a not uncommon specimen of men calling 
themselves civilized, who were inferior, in reality, 
to the dwellers in the woods around, whom they 
called savages. 

It was evident that the return of Claiborne was 
not unexpected by Dandie, from the latter having 
commissioned Rugly to invite the rebel leader to a 
conference ; but still the smith looked not to such a 
sudden alarm as was created by Claiborne’s appear- 
ance, being ignorant, at this time, of the hostile 
movements of the Indians on the night preceding. 
So that, when rider after rider came spurring past, 
and wagons, tumbrils, and other vehicles, hurried 
by, filled with their miscellaneous freight of house- 
hold goods, men, women, children, and some- 
times even live stock, as a pet lamb, a delicate little 
fawn, or such like favorite, he bade the men break 
off from work, while he himself undertook to inter- 
rogate some of the fugitives as to the causes that 
had produced the general panic. 

But little satisfactory intelligence could, however, 
be gained from the confused accounts that were 
given him. Some said that Claiborne had arrived 
with an army of ten thousand men, vowing death 
and destruction to all. Others averred that the 
Indians were in arms, and threatened an indiscrimi- 
nate massacre, such as had taken place in Virginia 
some years before — the horrors of which were still 
fresh in the remembrance of many. Some, again, 
there were, who, in reply to the questions of the 
smith, honestly confessed they knew not why they 
were flying in such trepidation from their farms and 
plantations, but that, sejeing others hurrying to one 
common goal, they had likewise followed, though 
with nothing but vague and indistinct fears of ap- 
proaching evil to justify this sudden desertion of 
their homesteads. 

Dandie, however, gathered sufficient intelligence 
to assure him that the Indians had, in reality, made 
some hostile movement or other, and he further 
inferred that they would not have made such a 
demonstration, unless aided or encouraged by Clai- 
borne. Having come to this conclusion, he told 
the men to throw aside their work for the day, while 
he proceeded to cogitate upon the best mode of 
shaping his own course in the storm which he saw 
was coming. 

No motive of patriotism entered into the calcu- 
lation of the smith, as he weighed the chances of 
adherence to either side. All was purely selfish 
and egotistical. Even the probable effusion of blood 
did not, for a moment, enter his thought. Of Clai- 
borne, personally, he knew but little ; though the 
little he did know, gave him great hopes of success. 
Report had always given the rebel leader great 


34 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


credit for unfaltering energy, and there was some- 
thing that looked almost like persecution, in the 
conduct of the Proprietary towards the daring out- 
law, that, awakening the sympathy of Dandie, in- 
clined him still more strongly to take up arms in 
his behalf. In addition to this, the smith, without 
any fixed purpose in view, had, for some time past, 
covertly entertained men as disaffected as himself, 
and he thought that, by bringing this opportune 
addition to Claiborne’s force, he might be able, in 
case of victory, to dictate such terms for himself and 
his companions as would satisfy them, and gratify 
his own ambition. 

While the smith was thus engaged, one of the 
men, as if weary of doing nothing, strode slouchingly 
up to the son, and pointing with his thumb over his 
shoulder, said — 

“ Thy bow, Dickon.” 

“ What for, Gib I” said the boy. 

“ Shoot — him and me,” returned the man, point- 
ing to his companion. 

“ la,” said the German, “ goot shoots is petter nor 
noting.’’ 

“ Take it, an’ you will,” said Dickon, “ but mind 
if Jans and you lose my arrows, I will have more 
for them.” 

“la, ia,” was the reply. 

Presently, however, Dickon began to take an 
interest in the exercise. He saw that their mark 
was set up in a wrong place, and took upon himself 
to alter it. 

^ “See,” said be, “ nobody ever made a fair aim 
with the sun shining in his eyes. Take thy butt 
yonder across the road, then fasten it to the oak at 
the edge of the wood; not that — the other. Now 
you see,” continued the youth, proud of his own 
superior knowledge, “ the light is upon the mark, 
and ye may look steadily at it. Lend me the bow, 
poise yourself thus — let the string fly cleanly off — 
note — ” 

“ Dat ish goot,” exclaimed Jans, as the arrow 
struck within an inch of the centre. 

“ That is nothing,” said Dickon, confidently. — 
“ Take it, Jans — lay thy body in the bow — steady. 
Keep your eye on the mark, not upon the arrow — 
so — there — humph — good for thee, Jans,” he added, 
as the shaft struck within the second circle. 

“ Goot for me, is goot for any pody,” said Jans, 
contentedly, handing the bow over to his comrade, 
with — 

“ Gip, you try.” 

Gib, or Gilbert, took the weapon, carelessly threw 
himself back, shook the long elf locks from over his 
eyes, brought the arrow home with a jerk, loosed it, 
and then brokeout into a rough laugh. — It had cleft 
the centre. 

“ Won,” said he, laconically. 

“Ia,” responded the German. 

“ Try again I’* inquired Gib. 

“Ia,” said Jans; and after sundry directions 
from Dickon, succeeded in planting his arrow 
along side that of his comrade. 

“ Give here,” said Gib, with a growl — “ see.” 

But the shaft sped not, and Dickon and Jans 
were astonished to see Gib sidling to and fro, as if 
under an invisible influence. 

“ A beast,” said Gib, pointing to a pair of dark 


( eyes shining between the green bushes in the rear 
of the tree at which they had been aiming. 

“ A beast — I say a beast,” said Gib, as the others 
looked in the direction given by his finger. 

“A wild peast — dat ish not goot,” said Jans, 
shaking his head gravely. 

“ Maybe ’tis a salvage,” said Dickon, peering 
earnestly at the bush, in the rear of which some- 
thing was now evidently seen moving. 

“ Beast or salvage, here goes,” said Gib, and 
scarce had the twang of the arrow been heard, be- 
fore it was succeeded by a quick, shrill shriek of 
pain, that roused Dandie from his reverie, and 
made Dickon and his companion stand aghast. 

“ What was that?” inquired the smith quickly. 

“ Zome peoplish is hurts, and cry out,” replied 
Jans, smoothing down his beard with philosophical 
gravity. 

“ See who it is,” said the smith, but the words 
had scarcely escaped his lips, before a wild, de- 
formed thing, stained with blood, darted out of the 
thicket, and sprang directly at Gib ; but the latter 
no sooner saw his strange adversary, than, over- 
come with superstitious fears, he took to his heels, 
bawling lustily, “ The devil.” 

“ Der Teufel !” roared Jans, placing a consider- 
able distance between himself and the strange 
object, and then after looking at it for some time, 
he mused abstractedly, as if making an effort at 
reasoning, which ended by his saying, with a puz- 
zled air, “ Put he is ploody.” 

Seeing no one present but the smith, for Dickon 
had also secreted himself somewhere, the Dwarf 
hobbled quickly up, placed a slip of paper into the 
hands of Dandie, and then disappeared in the 
forest as suddenly as he came. 

“ What can this mean ?” thought the astonished 
smith, but he no sooner cast his eyes upon the 
missive, than a smile passed over his face, and he 
muttered — “ So, very well.” 

In a short time, on various pretences, Dickon and 
the men were sent away, and then Dandie retired 
into the smith, and struck several limes on his 
anvil, on hearing the clean ringing sound of which, 
Claiborne passed rapidly from the thicket, where the 
Dwarf had been seen, and entering the door, said, 
with a frank and open manner, 

“ Master Dandie, I greet thee as a friend.” 

“ As such I bid thee welcome,” replied Dandie, 
warmly grasping the hand extended towards him, 
and then there was a pause of a few minutes, as if 
neither knew hew exactly to enter upon a subject 
so interesting to both. 

Nothing could be more different than the appear- 
ance of the two persons thus confronted with each 
other. The tall, manly, weather-beaten form of 
Claiborne was in fine contrast with that of the 
short, burly figure, bull-neck, and heavy ijiexpres- 
sive features of the smith, whose small, bright, 
black eyes alone gave evidence of the subtle spirit 
that lurked within. Dandie was the first to break 
the silence. 

“ It giie^es me,” said he, that some of my men 
carelessly wounded thy messenger — a wanton act, 
for which the rude knaves shall make any repara- 
tion you may desire.” 

“ 'rhink not of it, dear sir,” said Claiborne, in 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


35 


his blandest tones. “ A mere scratch ’i the shoul- 
der. The poor fool will be well of it anon, and if 
it but lead to the friendship of Master John Dan- 
die, William Claiborne would hold himself fortu- 
nate had himself been grazed by the shaft instead of 
the messenger. 

“You rate my deserts too highly,” said the 
smith deprecatingly, though evidently pleased with 
the compliment. “ I am but a simple artizan, 
plain in manner and in speech — somewhat too free 
spoken, some say ; and some go further, and call 
me brawler, seditionist, and I wot not how many 
other evil names,” 

“ Mere words, wherewith fools frighten children ! 
A man like thee should pass them by as so much 
idle wind, or rather take them to thyself as so many 
titles of honor. Fawning sycophants ever thus 
traduce the true-hearted. Malcontents and traitor, 
brawler and seditionist, are the word-weapons with 
which tyrants have assailed patriots through all 
time, and it is only weak spirits that cower and 
turn pale before such vapory arms. We are made 
of sterner stuff; it is not the thunder — their thun- 
der — we fear or feel, for we know that its mutter- 
ings are harmless. Men may fashion words in 
what sounds they please ; these affect us not. No, 
Master Dandie, it is the act that rouses — the wrong 
done never to be recalled — the shame branded and 
burnt in, never to be erased. These are the things 
that stir the lazy blood and prompt us to retrieve 
our wounded honor, or perish.” 

“ True, most true,” responded the smith, “ such 
hath often been my thoughts, though I could not 
hammer it into shape as thou hast done. Maybe 
it was because I could not feel so deeply as thou 
must, thy wrongs being so much greater than mine 
own.” 

“ Greater than thine. Master Dandie ? Not a jot. 
Honor knows no distinction betwixt a blow and a 
stab — both are injuries that demand reparation, and 
each bring shame on him who resents it not, though 
God wot I should lie easier under the prick of a 
dagger than the mark of a hand. Go to, then ; — 
here lies the point at issue. Thou hast been seized 
by the myrmidons of a tyrannical noble. Their 
rude harids have touched thee, and that is pollution 
of itself to a freeman. Thou hast been imprisoned 
— for a few hours only, it may be — but still thou 
hast been in durance. Thou hast been mulcted in 
a fine, and disgrace followed — nay, start not — I but 
probe to heal. Now, for myself. I have been 
despoiled of my rights — have been outlawed — my 
property confiscated — and myself doomed to wan- 
der houseless and shelterless. A price set upon 
my head, and hunted like a wild beast — and yet 
wherein art thou easier dealt with than 1 1 Do 
men of St. Mary’s greet thee as they were wont of 
old, before thou wast imprisoned, fined, and shamedl 
If so, why did’st leave them? Dost thou not feel 
they have flung a stigma on thy name thou can’st 
not do away ? Hast thou been the same man 
since ? Thou hast not. What worse, then, am I ? 
What matters when a brand is applied, whether it 
senr the flesh a little deeper or shallower ? It is 
there — the one as indelible as the other; and this 
is all the distinction between thy wrong and 
nrine.” 

“ Well, well,” said the smith, with a moody 


frown, as he rested a huge hammer upon the anvil, 
leaned heavily thereon, and looked down in deep 
thought. Claiborne’s keen gray eyes were fasten- 
ed upon him from beneath their shaggy over-hang- 
ing brows, and as the outlaw saw the spirit at work 
within, he said — 

“ Is it well. Master Dandie?” 

“ Aye,” answered the smith, rousing himself, 
and speaking slowly and distinctly, though with 
his eyes still cast upon the floor. 

“ Aye, what, though they have injured me, I 
have in some sort had my revenge. Look ye. 
Captain Claiborne, all have not thought so bad of 
me as you would make it appear. I have sat in 
their councils and thwarted th^m ; I have bearded 
them in their own hall; I — ” 

“ And thy wrongs are appeased, interrupted 
Claiborne. 

The smith was silent. 

“If thy triumph has washed out the wrong thou 
hast received, this is no place for me. A converted 
enemy may make a false friend, and I care not to 
jeopardize myself with one whom I know not 
whether to hold to my heart, or to keep at sword’s 
point. So speak at once. Master Dandie, which 
art thou ?” 

Darker and darker grew the frown on the brow 
of the smith, and for one moment he thought of 
retorting the implied threat of the outlaw, with words 
of sullen defiance, but when he looked into the face 
ofClaiborne,and saw there nothing but the courteous 
openness which the latter knew so well howto as- 
sume, the current of his feelings was changed, and 
grasping the arm of the outlaw, he pointed to the 
forge fire, and said, in a quick, fierce, broken voice — 

“ Thou seest those embers ; they look dead, and 
they are dead upon the surface, but a breath brings 
them to life, for the red coals are still glowing be- 
neath. I am that fire; I show not outwardly my 
feelings as I once did. Many think that in the 
years that have past, revenge has smouldered away 
into dust and cold ashes, but — ” and the speaker’s 
voice changed, and his countenance grew fearful to 
look upon — “ though hidden from human eyes, it 
burns the more fiercely about the heart.” 

“ And,” said Claiborne, “it shall be allayed in 
blood. Now, indeed, I know thee, and will speak 
to thee as to a brother. Our wrongs and our de- 
sires are kindred already. Listen to me. I know 
more than you think I do, touching your affairs. 
Had you met me coldly you would have perished, 
)iot through me or any act of mine, but the sword 
of him of the Castle has been over thee for some 
time past, and the first movement of a hostile cha- 
racter would have sealed thy doom. Now, I pro- 
tect thee and thine against all comers. Little recked 
they of thy feeble opposition in Council. Vexed, 
at times, they may have been, but the feeling was 
ever overpowered by the consciousness of knowing 
they could silence thee at any lime. A seat in 
Council was a dainty bait, and the Council Cham- 
ber a goodly trap, to catch one who nibbled at for- 
bidden things. They have heard, too, of night 
riders, and of men whose stealthy steps met them 
amid the gloom of the forest. Thou hast been 
raising shadows. Master Dandie, with a longing to 
use them, and a fear of their impotence. A step 
backwards, and the spirits you ha^ve raised might 


36 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


have destroyed thee ; for the passions of loose men 
cannot be evoked without danger to the magician. 
A single movement beyond your present position, 
and the suspended sword would have fallen upon 
your neck ; but your decision hath seized the only 
outlet, and the danger is gone from you.” 

Claiborne’s words agitated the smith with vary- 
ing emotions ; for the latter felt that for some time 
past such had been the language of his own fears, 
and now, when another— a stranger — showed him his 
perilous position, the coincidence startled him from 
his lethargy ; he felt that he must be up and doing. 
He asked not how Claiborne could possibly have 
obtained a knowledge of the views of the Governor 
towards him, for the outlaw’s assertion on this point 
so chimed in with his own fears that he felt they 
must be true — the more so as Claiborne had so cor- 
rectly delineated his position in regard to those in- 
dividuals with whom he had held Irom time to time 
secret intercourse. Dandie was not a brave man — 
that is, not constitutionally so — and the precipice 
upon which he imagined he stood appalled and ter- 
rified him. His was a spirit that the sound of 
coming danger unnerves; though had danger itself 
looked him in the face, he would have grappled 
with it to the extinction of his own life, or that of 
his enemy. Claiborne, in conversation with Rugly, 
had likened the courage of Dandie to that of the 
bull-dog, but he was right in part only. So far as 
tenaciousness and blind savage fury, when once fully 
roused, constitute a likeness, the comparison held 
good ; but of the nobler quality of waiting calmly 
the approach of danger, and cooly preparing to 
meet it, the smith was lamentably deficient; and 
herein he felt how much Claiborne W'as his supe- 
rior, while he did involuntary homage to that reach 
of mind which could rapidly sieze on all the promi- 
nent points of a subject and turn them to the best 
advantage. During all this time Cldiborne’s keen 
gray eyes were fixed upon the smith, and as the 
latter quailed beneath the gaze, the outlaw knew 
that he had gained another partizan, whom, with a 
little management, he could use in any way that 
would best accomplish the end of his ambition. 

“ What thou sayest. Captain Claiborne, is like 
enough to be true,” observed Dandie, after a brief 
pause, “ yet, for anything I have done up to this 
time, I trow I have friends enough to hold me harm- 
less, in defiance of his Governorship or any one else, 
if I call upon them for their help. So you see thus 
far I am safe ; yet for all this, as there seem a good 
many things in common between us, it would not 
take much to make me join thee with twenty stout 
fellows at my back — brave men, too, are they, and 
no sticklers for right cr wrong — holding their 
lives at a pin’s fee, and mine especial comates to the 
death. Say I do this, and abide with thee the 
chances of success or failure, if thou gainest St. 
Mary’s what shall be my reward 1” 

“ For thyself an affair of high trust, and for thy 
friends trust me they shall have no reason to say 
that William Claiborne is niggardly in rewarding 
his companions in arms.” 

“ Captain Claiborne, thou knowest if I adventure 
with thee in this matter and we fail, I lose all I 
have gathered together since I have been in the 
colony, and must look, moreover, to become a ban- 
ished man ; whereas, if thou succeedest, thy fortune 


is made ; if not, why thou art no worse than before. 
So in a few blunt words, for the hazard I run, I 
must be assured that amid thy new honors and the 
buzzing of new friends, the smith be not forgotten, 
or cast like a useless weapon churlishly aside.” 

“ Go on,” said Claiborne calmly. 

“Nay, I ha’ done; it is for thee to say thy say.” 

“ What assurance — what guaranty dost thou re- 
quire — speak plainly ; there is something on thy 
mind — what is’t ?” 

“ Thus it is,” said the smith, with a half hesitat- 
ing boldness — “ Thou hast — a — a — daughter — ” 

“ Well,” said the outlaw, wondering what was to 
come next. 

“ I am told she is a comely damsel, though but 
little versed in worldly ways.” 

“Comely !” exclaimed Claiborne wdth enthusi- 
asm, “the earth holds not her peer; she is clothed 
with beauty as with a garment, and her every move- 
ment hath its own peculiar grace. A fairer child 
never blessed a father’s eyes.” 

“ I dare say — I dare say,” responded the smith, 
wincing uneasily under Claiborne’s eulogium of 
his daughter, for he began to fear from the enthusi- 
asm of the latter when speaking of his child, that a 
project which he had been revolving in his own 
mind would be flouted by the outlaw almost as soon 
as revealed ; but having gone thus far he continued 
the subject, though with far less sanguine feelings 
as to the result than when he began. 

“ I dare say — I dare say — beauty is all very w’ell, 
especially in a woman, and though my Dicken is 
not ill-favored,” 

“ Who I” inquired Claiborne quickly. 

“ My Dickon, or Richard, if thou likest that name 
better,” continued the smith steadily, feeling he 
had now gone too far to retract, 

“What of him?” asked Claiborne with a sharp- 
ness of tone that grated unpleasantly upon the ear 
of the smith ; who, folding his arms, and advancing 
his right foot as if to give more firmness to his posi- 
tion, said, with a sort of dogged resolve, 

“ Why this : mate me thy daughter with my son 
and to-morrow I join thee with a score of fighting 
men at my back, and aid thee with my influence 
into the bargain.” 

“Ha!” exclaimed Claiborne, forgetting for the 
moment his usual cautious policy, and glaring at 
the smith with his lips drawn tightly apart, and 
showing his set teeth. “ Stoop to a blacksmith’s 
son— my daughter ! I tell thee, Master Dandie,” 
he added, as he turned proudly upon his heel, — 
“ Helen Claiborne is a mate for a princely wooer.” 

“And I tell r/iee. Captain Claiborne, that the 
blacksmith’s son is a fitting match for the outlaw’s 
daughter !” 

“ True, true,” said Claiborne sadly, now fully 
alive to the consequences of his rashness, — “ We 
are both wrong my good friend, and I beg of thee 
to forget if I have said ought to offend. I will 
think of this matter, and in the meantime they shall 
see each other. If the liking be mutual, she shall 
w'ed thy Dickon, for I love her too well to stand be- 
tween her and happiness.” 

“ Sayest thou so !” cried the overjoyed smith — 
“ then here’s my hand ; this is better than making 
the sparks fly ! Ha ! ha ! Dickon shall try his 
luck — she’ll love him, I know she will. Hem! a 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


37 


Word in thine ear — Dickon is a rare gallant in love 
craft.” 

Disgusted, and with greater contempt for his 
companion than he cared to avow, Ciaiborne turned 
aside, and at that moment the sound of a horse’s 
feet approaching at a rapid pace caught the ear of 
both. 

Motioning the outlaw to retire into the darker 
part of the smithy, Dandie himself leaned over the 
wicket, or half door, and waited the coming of 
whomsoever it might be. 

Scarcely had he assumed this position before 
Forster came in sight, and immediately rode to- 
wards him. At first Dandie turned pale, on behold- 
ing the uniform of a soldier from St. Mary’s, and 
his guilty conscience smote him with many misgiv- 
ings; but finding the horseman unattended, the 
smith look heart and sought to conceal his appre- 
hensions under a show of snappish churlishness. 

“ Well, sir, what lack you 1” he asked abruptly 
of Forster, as the young man reined in his horse. 

“ I bring a letter from his Excellency the Gov- 
ernor,” replied Forster, as he handed the neatly- 
folded missive to the smith. 

“Humph,” said Dandie, after breaking the seal 
and scanning the contents of the paper, and then 
Claiborne’s words came across his mind with all 
their force, that the council chamber was a goodly 
trap to catch those who meddled with forbidden 
things. So, eyeing F orster suspiciously as he spoke, 
he said, 

“ Tell the Governor that, being busy with mine 
own affairs, I shall not be able to attend the council 
until the day after to-morrow, though I doubt not 
my poor wit could add nothing to what may have 
been devised by the wisdom of the gentlemen al- 
ready assembled there.” 

“ I will deliver the message, sir,” was the reply 
of Forster, when, as he wheeled his horse to return, 
he thought he caught a glimpse of another person 
within the gloom of the smithy. To stop and look 
again was his first thought — to continue on his 
second. He did so, but after riding a short dis- 
tance he halted, and looking round suddenly beheld 
Claiborne in close conversation with the smith. — 
One glance was sufficient; the next moment he put 
spurs to his horse and was making the best of his 
way to St. Mary’s. 

Dandie stood speechless and aghast. He now 
felt himself committed to the fortunes of the out- 
law ; for on the arrival of Forster at the Castle the 
traitorous collusion would be made known. What 
was to be done? But while these thoughts were 
rapidly passing through his mind, Claiborne, who 
had been looking at him with a furtive smile upon 
his lip, said, 

“ Master Dandie, would’st not like to secure that 
young man ?” 

“ Aye, marry would I,” replied the smith, draw- 
ing in his breath, as if already half relieved by the 
question. 

Then why not do it?” asked the outlaw signifi- 
cantly. 

“ This is but mocking me,” said Dandie with 
chagrin. “ Can I fly ?” 

“ No ! bnt a nearer path might serve the use of 
wings. Thou knowest the bridle path to Braoth- 
wayte’s manor cuts off, as it were., the circuitous- 


ness of the main road, making that but half a mile 
across, which is two miles round ; now a trusty 
knave, — ” 

“ Say no more,” said Dandie, his countenance 
brightening and his whole demeanour changed. — 
“ Wait till I blow a blast for one of my men : we 
may yet be in time.” 

Presently the sound of a horn was returned in 
echoes from the dense forest, and while Dandie 
hastily flung saddle and bridle over his horse, and 
led him from the stable, the long slouching form of 
Gib was seen striding across the meadows with an 
awkward but quick pace, well suited to the urgency 
of the call. 

Meanwhile, Claiborne, entering the forest at the 
point from whence he had emerged, soon after re- 
appeared, followed by the Dwarf. A few rapid ener- 
getic gestures sufficed to instruct the latter as to 
what was required of him ; and then he limped and 
bounded across the road and was soon lost amid 
the foliage of the trees. 

Gib was already in the saddle, with his long legs 
dangling almost to the ground, when Claiborne re- 
joined the smith, and after explaining what he had 
done, Dandie gave his serving man such directions 
as the two conspirators deemed necessary to the 
fulfilment of the object in view. 

Little dreaming of the meshes that were being 
wove for him, Forster continued on his way to- 
wards St. Mary’s. He was in high spirits, for he 
had thus far safely fulfilled his mission, and at the 
same time had verified his opinion of the traitorous 
intentions of the smith by actual observation. He 
was returning from what even the Governor had 
called a perilous journey, though short ; and in a 
little while he would again greet his beloved Amy ; 
his beloved, how knew he that — or if so, how long 
was she to be so dear to him? Who was this 
strange cousin? What right had he to be so fa- 
miliar, and why did she not treat him with more 
reserve ? As these thoughts passed through his 
mind, the feelings that gave them birth brought a 
shade of sadness to his brow, and he sighed, and 
slackening his speed gave way to a long train of 
melancholy imaginings. Presently, the plaintive 
cry of one in distress fell upon his ear, and he 
stopped and listened, but the sound had ceased. 
Moving slowly forward the moans became more 
distinct, and he at length descried beneath a tree by 
the way-side a something stained with blood, and 
groaning piteously, but what it was he could not 
tell. On reaching the spot, however, he was sur- 
prised to find that the wounded thing was an un- 
couth, misshapen Dwarf ; and the creature seemed 
in so much pain that humanity prompted him to 
draw nigh and endeavour to extend some relief. 
Before, however, he dismounted, he questioned the 
creature about the nature of his hurt. 

“ Here,” said the Dwarf, pointing to his shoul- 
der — “ Arrow ! — Ingens ! — Help ! — Help !” 

“ Where are the savages now ?” inquired 
Forster. 

“ Gone — all gone ; help poor Hulon — no father, 
no mother — Hulon die!” and he looked so piteous- 
ly into Forster’s face that the latter dismounted, 
and tearing away the raiment from_^about the wound, 
drew forth his kerchief to use as a bandage, first 
placing his pistol on the bank and near his hand. 


38 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


so as to be ready at a moments’ warning — when all 
at once he felt his arms pinioned from behind, and 
the Dwarf, springing up, limped about in high glee, 
clapping his hands, laughing, and performing all 
kinds of merry antics ; while Gib, after securing his 
struggling prisoner, burst out into a rough laugh, 
uttering the monosyllable — “ Caught!” 


CHAPTER XL 

Tuue to his promise, the seaman Blundell, fol- 
lowed by Rugly, bent his way in the dusk of the 
evening to the tavern of the Red Lion Honest 
Joe Halsey, as the rotund Host was pleased to call 
himself, had been fidgetting to and from the door, 
looking first up and then down the street, with the 
eager uneasiness of a man who sees a prize in view 
and yet is doubtful of being able to grasp it. But 
when the rolling gait of Blundell, and the moodier 
step of Rugly met his eye, he rubbed his hands in 
evident satisfaction, and smacking his lips, as if he 
already tasted the contraband wine, he descended 
into the street and advanced to meet them. 

My dainty neptune, good even to thee — and 
thou, Hal Rugly ; come along, we’ll have a rare 
wine bibbing — potations pottle deep, as the player 
used to say at the Globe. Ah me ! we ha’ no plays 
and pastimes here ; no married dancers and maid 
marians, as I have seen in merry England, in the 
good old days before the starch Puritan took the 
wale of the gay cavalier. But what of that — what 
of that ! we still have the wassail bowl, and that, 
ray Sea Bacchus, is worth all your other sports put 
together : I mean d’ ye see, when a man has a few 
choice boon companions to share it with him — ^jolly 
topers and no sticklers for quantity if the quality be 
of the best. What is thy notion of the matter, my 
worthy Merman I” 

“ Why, that salt water was made for the free 
rover, fresh for the landsman, and strong drinks to 
make rogues of publicans, and knaves of his cus- 
tomers.” 

“ Ho, ho, ho ! what a wit thou hast; a marvel- 
ous wit ; a little saltish, but I like it the better. Out 
upon your addle-pated, dry-tongued followers, with 
no mere humor than a dead mackerel ! Give me a 
mirthful man, with a free speech that brings its own 
relish with it ; a thirsty man, one that loves good 
liquor, and ” 

“ Pays his score punctually,” added Rugly. 

“ Give me thy hand, Hal, thou art improving. 
That was not bad for thee! Not very 1 bad. — 
See what it is to be in good company. Ha, lad, 
thou shalt have an extra pottle for that speech. I 
like to encourage young beginners.” 

Well pleased with this last sally, the ponderous 
host indulged in a subdued, rumbling sort of a 
chuckle, as he led the way into a comfortable and 
retired room, and placing chairs for his guests, bade 
them be seated. 

The solitary light, and the slight bustle incident 
to settling themselves in their places, prevented both 
the seaman and Rugly from noticing that they were 
not alone in the apartment ; but when they began 
to look about them, they saw, to their extreme sur- 
prise, and with some little suspicion, that a man, 


whose features they could not make out, occupied 
a chair at the opposite end of the room, and on the 
floor, at his feet, sat or rather crouched, what in the 
dimness they conjectured to be a woman. The sea- 
man turned an inquiring, scrutinizing look upon 
Halsy, who responded by placing his finger upon 
his lip and whispering across the table. 

“ Only a friend of mine — heed him not — he is too 
much occupied with his own thoughts to notice 
you. Between us, he is in love with the Lily of 
St. Mary’s; but, I fear me, hopelessly. Poor lad, 
poor lad, he hath never been the same high spirited 
youth he^was before he went a voyage to New 
Spain with a captain Ingle.” 

“ Ha ! and why 1” 

“ There is the mystery. No one knows ; but it 
has been rumored about that, while he was away, he 
got some blood upon his hands which lies heavy 
upon his conscience, and that this is the reason why 
he has since given himself up to dissipation and 
wild courses, though I do not believe it, but rather 
think it is owing to the gentle Lily looking so 
coldly on him.” 

“ And the woman, who is she ?” 

“ A young Indian that he rescued from the Sus- 
quehannocks, and who has followed him out ot 
gratitude ever since. Never did I see any one so 
devoted to^another as she is to him. Why, sir, she 
hangs upon his footsteps from morning till night ; 
and when night comes, the poor thing wraps her 
deer skin robe about her, and lies at his chamber 
door, with the watchfulness of one who is guarding 
a treasure. — But cry you mercy, I have forgotten,” 
and stepping to the door he called, “ Andrew, some 
more light here.” 

“Anon, anon, sir,” was the ready reply of the 
w’aiter, as he bustled off to fulfil the order. 

The conversation up to this point, between 
Blundell and the host, had been carried on in a 
whisper ; but when the waiter brought in an addi- 
tional supply of cressets, and furnished the table 
with the requisite number of flagons and drinking 
cups, the jolly publican filled for himself and his 
companions, and then said, 

“ To our better acquaintance, friend Merman.” 

“ Avast a little !” said the seaman, rising and 
crossing the room, and to the astonishment of 
Rugly, and the mortification of the publican, slap- 
ping the young man familiarly upon the shoulder 
with, 

“ What cheer, brother I” 

“How now, fellow 1” exclaimed Arthur Corn- 
wallis, springing to his feet, and preparing to resent 
the insulting intrusion of the stranger ; but Neenah, 
quick as thought, had flung herself as a shield 
before him, and as he looked up indignantly into 
the face of the seaman, their eyes met, and the 
young man, suddenly turning pale as ashes, stag- 
gered back, and grasping for support the arm of the 
chair in which he had been seated, gasped out in a 
low, faltering voice of blended astonishment and 
fear — 

“ You here?” 

“ Aye, and why notl” rejoined the other; “a 
tavern, I take it, is a port of entry as free for small 
in-shore craft, as for the merchandizing galleon.” 

“ Captain ” 

“ Blundell,” interrupted the seaman quickly, and 
with significance, “ Will Blundell, or Captain Blun- 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


39 


<3ell is my name : and a very good name it is, and ' 
not easiW twisted out of shape; but put that girl 
away, I can’t talk over a woman’s shoulder.” 

“No, no, no,” murmured Ncenah, who suffi- 
ciently understood what was said to comprehend 
that the seaman wished to withdraw her from before 
him she sought to protect. 

“ Neenah not go away ! She help young Eagle 
— no like you — Wolf — no, no, no ! — not go away !” 
and the affectionate girl, whose native acuteness had 
instantly discovered, from the troubled voice and 
uneasy actions of Cornwallis, that the presence of 
Blundell was most unwelcome,.assumed a still more 
watchful attitude, until the former assured her, over 
and over again, that no danger was to be appre- 
hended. Then, and then only, did she move from 
before him, saying, half doubtingly to herself as she 
complied, 

“ Young Eagle tall — Neenah sit down — he know 
what good — she sit.” 

“ Master Blundell,” said Cornwallis, tremulously, 
what would you with mel” 

“ Oh, nothing ! a cup of wine together for old 
acquaintance sake.” 

A sudden spasm shook the frame of the young 
man, as if the memory of that acquaintance brought 
with it an agony not to be even outwardly subdued, 
though he succeeded in schooling his voice into 
measured accents, as he replied — 

“ If that is all — be it as you say and moving 
mechanically to the table, he took the cup with a 
trembling hand, and after pledging his companion, 
suddenly left the room, followed by Neenah ; but 
scarcely had he reached the passage to the entrance 
when his footsteps were arrested by the voice of the 
seaman. 

“ You must meet me,” whispered the latter, “ at 
this hour to-morrow by the old mill, Thornton’s I 
think they call it ; and hark ye, see that you fail 
not.” 

“ I — I — ” began the young man, in tones of 
earnest entreaty. 

“Not a word — you know me.” 

“ Do not, do not ask it!” 

“ Hold ! your sea qualms have come back upon 
you. No more of this,” added Blundell, sternly, 
“ I shall expect you.” 

“ Hell-hound !” exclaimed Cornwallis, with furi- 
ous vehemence, “ if you drive me to desperation, 
beware of yourself. A word of mine would ” 

“ Tush,” said the seaman, calmly, “ I have done 
nothing, or if I have, you cannot prove it. While 
for yourself, I can blast you where you stand. What 
would the fair Lily say if ” 

“ Enough,” said the other, with agonizing emo- 
tion, “ I — I — will meet you.” ' 

“ I knew you would,” said the seaman, with a 
laugh that sounded strangely to the ear of the 
terror-stricken young man ; “ I knew yon would. 
Farewell messmate, you see I trust you.” 

“ O, God !” cried Cornwallis, wringing his hands 
in the bitterness of his anguish, “ that I should live 
to endure this,” and he rushed with frantic reck- 
lessness into the dark street, and took his way he 
knew not, cared not whither, though the faithful 
footsteps of Neenah followed him through all his 
devious wanderings during that dreadful night. 

On returning to the room, Blundell found that 


the scene which had occurred between himself and 
Arthur Cornwallis, nua uoi been without its effects 
upon his companions. Halsy betrayed evident 
symptoms of uneasiness at his appearance. His 
tongue had lost its natural glibness and he wascon- 
tinually settling and resettling himself in his chair, 
while Rugly sat moodily looking down upon the 
table, and unconsciously making with his finger, 
crooked lines and strange devices with the wine that 
was spilled thereon. 

Blundell looked at one and then at the other, 
and at one moment he seemed determined to resent 
the coolness with which he was met, for his 
swarthy face flushed : but suddenly curbing his 
resentment, he perhaps thought it the part of wis- 
dom to adopt a different course. 

“ How is this, my masters I” said he. “ Is this the 
hospitality of St. Mary’s 1 a fico for such welcome, 
say 1. Come, fill your glasses : here ’s a health to 
my young friend Cornwallis!” 

“Eh!” said the host, opening his eyes to the 
widest extent ; “thy friend, master Merman — didst 
thou say thy friend 1” 

“ Aye, truly — many a merry bowl have we had 
together when we were boys ; but the best of friends 
will quarrel at times, you know ; and when a knave 
steps in to make peace, it generally ends in making 
the breach wider.” 

Rugly looked incredulous, but mine host was 
more easily satisfied. Perhaps his interest whis- 
pered him that it would be a pity to lose the chance 
of bargaining for an assortment of choice wines at 
a low cost, merely because circumstances pointetf 
rather suspiciously at the character of the salesman. 
Let it be as it may, his reply indicated a recurrence 
of his former feelings in favor of the seaman. 
“ Ah, lad, your ftery spirits are ever in broils and 
difficulties, that a graver man escapes from ; not 
that I love your Sir Gravity, with his long face and 
drawling phrase, yet am I sorry there is anger be- 
twixt thee and Arthur Cornwallis. ” 

“Tut, that is all past and explained ; we under- 
stand each other now ; we shall be closer friends 
than ever.” 

“ Say ye so 1 Then here ’s to him and thee in a 
bumper ; and may no scar of the healed wound re- 
main between ye.” 

“ So say I,” added Rugly, though with far lees 
zeal as he emptied his glass. 

We need not follow them in their potations. 
Suffice it to say, that as the contents of the flagon 
shrank away, all previous coolness wore off. Rugly 
became vain-glorious and boastful, and but for the 
wariness of his companion, would have let slip, 
more than once, secrets that might have alarmed 
even the wilfully unsuspicious landlord. Blundell 
was more cautious, seldom drinking much at a time, 
though to keep his temperate draughts from the 
knowledge of the portly Halsy, he rattled on upon 
any and every subject with apparently the most 
exuberant gayety, while the former laughed the 
louder, and the longer, and grew more garrulous 
after every one of his companions’ sallies. After a 
while, during a breech in the mirth, Blundell asked 
abruptly. 

“ Cornwallis, you say, went to sea with a captain 
Ingle V' 

“Aye, truly, my pearl of the ocean. He went 


40 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


one voyage — only one, I remember it as yesterday — 
but v^’hat of that : Pass the flagon. Rugly, my 
friend, though art getting sluggish in thy draught !” 

“ An’ I do not drink fair, I am a Hollander,” 
grunted the parlizan, whose utterance was thicker 
than usually accords with perfect sobriety. 

“He means,” said Blundell, “ he drinks as fair as 
a Hollander.” , 

“Captain Will Blundell, thou — thou — ” said 
Rugly, steadying him.-elf by the table and trying to 
look fierce. 

“Sit down, sir,” said the seaman, sternly. 

“ Why should I sit — master Joe Halsey — honest 
Joe Halsey, I can stand — why should I sit 1 I say 

Will Blundell, thou ” 

“ A very pretty knife, is it not I” said Blundell, 
quietly exhibiting a long Spanish knife to the ruddy 
landlord; “though there was peculiar sinister 
expression in his eye, as he looked at the same time 
at the refractory partizan, that caused Rugly to 
think a seat might perhaps be the pleasanter and 
safer position after all.” 

“ The handle of massive silver, curiously carved, I 
see. For what purpose dost thou use this weapon I” 
“ To cut with,” replied the other. 

“ Ho, ho, ho ! as if I knew not that. To cut 
with ; beshrew thy speech, it is as sharp as thy 
knife. A dainty piece of workmanship that, but 
too pretty and too costly for use.” 

“ Bad thing to use !” said Rugly, shaking his 
head with drunken gravity, “ had thing to use.” 

“ Thou callest this bauble cosily,” said the sea- 
man. “ What wouldst say if thou shouldst see a 
chamber filled with silks and silver tissues — velvets 
and cloths of gold — arquebu.sses, inwrought with 
silver and precious stones — scimetars of Damascus, 
covered with the enamelled devices of Araby — 
jewels and rare dresses — beautiful plumes, and 
skins of downy softness 1” 

“ It is a tale of fairy land,” said the landlord. 

“ The world is fairy land, master Halsy, and W'e 
who visit the regions of the world, obtain many 
things, which, though but lightly esteemed in those 
places, yet to us who know their value, they are 
beyond all price. Should thou hear of any who 
would fain exchange gold pieces for some of these 
dainties, peradventure they would be forthcoming. 
I’hink of this, and let me know to-morrow or a 
day or two hence ; and touching the other matter 
you wot of, I will stave every cask I own ere he of 
the Bells shall taste a drop, while thou art in the 
land of the living ; but come, a parting glass and a 

song.” ^ I 

“ I will drain a cup with thee, my worthy sea- 
bacchus, but for song or psalm, cavalier or puritan 
have ever said that a cracked gittern, joined to the 
howl of a mastiff, that hjid taken cold, were fit ac- 
companiments to the voice of honest Joe Halsy. 

Now here ’s Rugly, who ” 

u I I ” ejaculated Rugly, in the utmost aston- 

ishment. 

“ Away with thee, Joe Halsy, thou art a knave, 
a wine bibber, a drunken rogue, with a fat paunch 
— a ” 

“ Shut me this man’s mouth with a song,” said 
Halsy, appealing to the seaman. 

“ So be it,” said Blundell, gaily, “but remember, 
you forfeit a postle of burnt sack for this.” 


“ And welcome, and welcome,” said the host. 
Whereupon the seaman sipped a little wine, and 
then sung enthusiastically, as follows ; 

THE FREE ROVER. 

A horseman — a horseman ! he travels with speed 
O’er the fathomless wave on a marvelous steed, 

And the wind, as it whistles his raven locks through, 

But dashes his cheek with a ruddier hue ; 

And the rain, storm, and lightning, though fierce they be. 
Are comates and playmates he loves to see. 

The tempest — the tempest I what recks he its wrath ? 

O’er mountains storm-lifted he holds on his path. 

Though the heavens are black, with the murkiest rack ; 
And the foam, and the spray, hiss around on his track * 

He calls for a beaker and fills to the brim. 

For the danger to others is pastime to him. 

A monarch — a monarch ! he standeth alone. 

The ocean his kingdom — a good ship his throne ; , 

With rude swarthy vassals who wait his conunand, 

To ravage wnth fire, or harry with brand ; 

Or gather in tribute whence tribute is due. 

Of silks from the Indies, or gold from Peru. 

A vessel — a vessel ! is clearing the brine. 

An oath swofe the horseman, and washed it with wine. 
Who races Math me must be sparing of breath — 

If he fly — if he fight, he but wrestles with death ; 

And the w'hite-livered cow'ard despatched with a blow. 

But ushers the fate of the sturdier foe. 

A praying — a cursing — are borne on the blast, 

A moment are heard — in a moment are past ; 

A surge, and a yell, and the waters roll over 
The fools wdio had dared to dispute with the Rover. 

“ Ho ! ho !” quoth the monarch, in blood to his knee, 

“ More food for the maw of the ravenous sea.” 


CHAPTER XII. 

Ox reaching the Castle, the Lily of St. Mary’s 
was met in the Court-yard by Lady Calvert, whose 
as.siduous kindness won upon the affectionate grati- 
tude of the maiden, though it could not altogether 
relieve her overburthened spirits; a sad and some- 
what oppressive feeling seemed to weigh upon her 
mind during the remainder of the day. The unex- 
pectedness of the outrage, its daring character, the 
alternations of hope and fear that it occa.sioned, the 
sudden and unlooked for relief, at a time when re- 
lief seemed almost hopeless — all combined to ren- 
der the fair girl grave and thoughtful, and filled 
with an impressive soul-subduing awe. 

At intervals, a softer feeling intermingled itself 
with her gravity, betraying its presence by a tran- 
sient blush and a tenderer light in her fair blue 
eyes, as if the gallant and respectful conduct of her 
rescuer formed a part of her pleasanter meditations. 
Did she love him 1 She had never said so in words. 
Did he love her ? He had never told her" so. And 
yt t their eyes had spoken, and eyes are loves tablets, 
whereupon he writes in glowing words the thoughts 
he fears to speak. 

It is on occasions of distress or danger that a wo- 
man feels most strongly the beauty and wisdom of 
the ordinance that confides her touching weakness 
to the vigorous protection of a manly arm. Her 
feebleness and his strength are then for the first 
time fully contrasted; and the sense of affectionat 
dependence becomes forcibly impres ed upon he 
mind — a loving dependence is it — not servile orhu 


CLAISORNE THE REBEL. 


41 


miliating, but the blending of two natures into one : 
an union giving double power to each — a receiving 
and a bestowing — an intertwining, whereby weak- 
ness becomes strength, and strength more powerful. 
She ministers to him in sickness, and cheers him in 
despondency — rejoices at success, and in failure in- 
cites him to renewed exertion ; and he gathers in- 
spiration from her lips, and new hopes from her 
prophecies; like mirrors placed at opposite ends of 
an apartment, they reflect each other — cheerfulness 
induces cheerfulness — smiles beget smiles; for the 
feelings between those that love are sympathetic ; 
and he who weary, way-worn, and disheartened 
with the world, turns moodily away from its brawls, 
its petty animosities, its follies, and its bold un- 
whipped villanies — looking into his wife’s eyes and 
seeing love written there, feels there is yet some 
good left, and learns to speak with charity of the 
failings of his fellows, and with mournful severity 
of their less excusable crimes. 

When Mary Branthwayte arose on the morrow, 
the cloud that had darkened her spirits the day pre- 
vious had passed aw'ay, and she felt cheerful and 
composed. Her wonted gaiety had not, indeed, 
wholly returned, but the impression of the past 
danger was fainter and less terrible. The compos- 
ing influence of a night of sleep was still farther aid- 
ed by the balminess of the air, as she threw open 
the lattice and inhaled the pure breath of the morn- 
ing. For a moment, indeed, when her eyes first 
wandered towards the dim wood that skirted the 
city, she turned pale, and her pulse quickened, as 
the view so forcibly recalled the remembrance of 
her yesterday’s adventure ; but, when she looked 
down and saw the quiet well-kept garden beneath 
her window, and heard the sweet trillings of the 
birds that flitted from tree to tree in undisturbed 
joyousness, she shook off her idle fears, and resting 
her check upon her hand, sent out her thoughts, as 
bees roam from flower to flower, to feed on pleasant 
memories and delightful imaginings. 

And thus she sat, taking no note of time — feeling 
not the light wind lifting her fair tresses — conscious 
of the beauty of the scene upon which her eyes 
were intently fixed, and yet seeing neither the 
cloudless glory of the azure sky, the irregular un- 
dulations of the far reaching forest, the open glades, 
the verdant slopes catching the earlier beams of 
the new risen sun, or the tortuous line of gray va- 
por that indicated the course of the St. Mary’s 
River. Her eyes, indeed, were open, but their sense 
was shut ; and Lady Calvert, after entering the 
room, stood for some minutes with a smile upon her 
lips, watching the motionless and wrapt attitude of 
the maiden, before she attempted to break in upon 
her reverie. 

“ Come Lily,” said she, with a quiet laugh, “ ^ 
fear me I can wait no longer.” 

“ Indeed, Lady Emily,” said the maiden, in some 
little confusion, “ I am grieved that — that — ” 

“ Say no more, cousin,” interrupted Lady Cal" 
vert, kindly, “ I was a dreamer once, nay, perhaps 
am yet a little so inclined. Now, I would wager a 
pair of gloves,” she added archly, “ that I could tell 
whither my pretty kinswoman’s thoughts tended. 
What says she 1 will she take up the gage I” 

“ Deem you not my father or cousin Leonard will 


be waiting us?” stammered the Lily evasively, 
with her eyes cast upon the ground. 

“ True, true,” said Lady Calvert, laughing, “ but 
that suggestion should have been mine ; I offer to 
wager with thee touching a certain matter, and you 
ask me in reply if Sir Leonard be not expecting us. 
In good sooth, a singularly direct answer to so 
straight-forward a question. Yet as this is a young 
girl’s privilege, my gentle cousin, it is scarcely fair 
that I should seek to infringe upon the charter.” 

“ Nay, Lady Emily, indeed — ” began the 
maiden. 

“ Oh, tut, tut,” said Lady Calvert, “we must to 
the breakfast room,” adding gaily, as she affection- 
ately took the arm of her gentle companion, “ deem 
you not my father and cousin Leonard will be ex- 
pecting us.” 

Captain Branthw^ayte was indeed waiting the ap- 
pearance of his daughter, as she anticipated ; and as 
the veteran paced impatiently the room, stopping 
every little while to listen for her descending foot- 
steps, his features wore an expression of anxiety ; 
but no sooner did he hear the pleasant voice of Lady 
Calvert, and the Lily’s clear musical reply, than he 
involuntarily exclaimed, 

“That sounds like old times; she is better, I 
know she is belter.” 

How naturally, and how readily the ear of a pa- 
rent detects, by the slightest word or the simplest 
intonation, whether a child be well, or ill, grave, or 
cheerfully disposed. From that which a stranger 
would pass unheeded, a father will often draw con- 
clusions tending to move him to a gratified mood, 
or to one of earnest and serious gravity. So in the 
present instance. No sooner did Captain Branth- 
wayte hear his daughter speak, though but a few 
words, than his countenance brightened, and he 
turned to the door to welcome her as she entered, 
with a smile upon those lips which but a minute 
before had been pressed together in the darkness of 
parental fear. 

“ Well, Branthwayte, think you our Lily droops 
so much this morning 1” inquired Lady Calvert, 
as the old cavalier lovingly kissed the forehead of 
his child. 

“ She is marvelously improved, madam, and 
faith I could almost chide her for certain foolish 
tremors which she brought about her old father’s 
heart — simple wench — tush, look not up to me so 
fondly ; and yet, why should’st thou not 1 Ah, 
Lady Calvert, when the child of our old age is like 
her sainted mother in the days of her youthful beau- 
ty, it is not wonderful that an old man’s love should 
have a two-fold force ; she is very like her mother.” 
And tears glistened in the eyes of the fine old cava- 
lier at the remembrance of the lost wife of his 
bosom ; but they fell not, for the Lily twined her 
arms about him and kissed them away. 

“ Thus it is ever,” said he, seeming to struggle 
from her, and smiling faintly, — “ the forward chit 
hath a sworn enmity to all melancholy moods.” 

“ Save her own,” interrupted Lady Calvert. 

“ ’I faith thou has’t her there, madam. Come 
hither, wench. What if I tell thee thou has’t en- 
dangered the safety of a portion of the Colony !” 

“ And taken captive our young men,” added 
Lady Calvert; “and led thy father from the path of 


42 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


his duty, by which an abler officer hath been sent 
in his stead.” 

“ Grievous sins, for which due penance shall 
be performed,” said Mary Branthwayte; “but 
what shall that penance be, and who shall adjudge 
it I” 

“ Ha ! Leonard !” but the further speech of 
Captain Branthwayte was cut short when he saw 
that the Governor was strongly moved, though from ! 
what cause they were all as yet ignorant. Even j 
Lady Calvert, as she glided to her husband’s side, | 
and taking his hand looked up tenderly into his ! 
face, felt that the purterbation arose from no com- | 
mon mishap ; for, instead of his replying to her ! 
mute caress wiih a pleasant word, as was his usual ; 
custom, he simply parted her dark locks, and press- 
ed considerately his lips to her forehead. 

“ Husband, what is this ?” said Lady Calvert — 

“ speak to us — tell us all — something has happened 
— what is it that disturbs you so 1” 

“ Dear wife,” said the Governor kindly, to the 
sad earnestness of Lady Calvert, “ there is nothing 
brings home to us so forcibly the evils of war as the 
sudden loss of those for whom we entertain a near 
regard. In the defence of our country against a 
foreign foe, those who fall sink to sleepjin the pride 
of their well-won renown ; but in this unnatural 
strife, of brother against brother, glory hath no part, 
and whosoever is conquerer must feel regret at hav- 
ing done battle against those who claim the same 
land of birth and speak the same tongue.” 

“ Aliens in heart should be deemed as aliens in 
home, and dealt with as such,” replied Captain 
Branthwayte ; “ besides, the transgression is with 
them and not us. 

“ But he of whom you speak,” said Lady Cal- 
vert. 

“ A detachment was sent out early this morning, 
and as yet we have had no tidings; perchance 
when they — Ha, Sewyer !” as the Secretary, pre- 
ceded by a servant, made his appearance — say, is 
he returned I” 

“ He ! who 1” asked Lady Calvert, with visible 
anxiety. 

“ Trevor, I ” 

“ Look to the Lily !” cried Lady Calvert, quickly. 

Captain Branthwayte had, however, been watch- 
ing her increasing paleness, and was by her side 
almost as soon as the Governor’s lady had spoken. 
She was icy cold, but rallied for a moment, and her 
lips moved as if she would ask a question, and yet 
feared the answer. Lady Calvert, however, di- 
vined her thoughts, and instantly said, 

“ Trevor is not lost — it cannot be — it was this 
morning only that I saw him ride out from the court 
yard — you refer not to him ]” 

“ No, no,” said the governor, “ he is safe enough, 
— a youth — ” 

Mary Branthwayte heard no more. A thrill of 
delight passed over her, and she fell senseless into 
the arms of her father. 

“ So, so,” muttered the old cavalier, gravely, “ I 
dreamed not of this. And yet,” he added, “ it is 
very natural. He is gallant, accomplished — brave, 
and has rescued her from worse than death. Now 
if it be — ” but Lady Calvert, who had gone out in 
search of a restorative, now returned, and checked 
his further soliloquy ; in a few minutes the maiden 


I was restored to consciousness, and the gentlemen 
withdrew into the ante-room. 

I “Who is it thou hast lost, Leonard 1” abruptly 
asked Captain Branthw'ayte.” 

I “ A young friend of thine, one Master Forster, a 
I youth in whom I had taken no little interest. I 
sent him, as thou knowest, with despatches to cer- 
tain gentlemen, praying them to meet us here at 
their earliest; that he faithfully executed his mission, 
is without doubt, for those to whom his letters were 
directed, have already reported themselves in per- 
son — all save one, and it is he — ” 

“So please you, sir,” said Sewyer, who, hearing 
the clatter of hoofs, had glanced through the lattice 
window into the court yard below, “ so please you, 
sir, the troop have returned.” 

“ Bid Trevor join us, then, instantly. I was 
about to say, cousin, that the man Dandie, whom 
Forster was also to summon to the council, is the 
only one whose presence has been withheld. — 
Whether he hath valid reason for absenting him- 
self I know not ; but Trevor, w’ho has been en- 
deavoring to trace the young man since early this 
morning, will, I doubt not, be able to give us such 
information as shall confirm or allay our fears. — 
At present, the mystery only tends to keep us more 
unsettled by magnifying the danger; just as, in 
lonely places, objects but dimly seen through the 
gloom of evening are enlarged by the imagination, 
until the eyes seem to see phantoms and things of 
terror in simple bushes, withered, outbranching 
trees, or harmless and inoffensive animals.” 

“ That Dandie is a knave,” said Branthwayte, 
with his usual unceremonious energy ; “ a rank 
knave, and I marvel much, Leonard, that you have 
temporized with his manifold villainies so long. — 
7’hose evening assemblages you wot of, betoken 
more evil to the colony than can be put down easily, 
save by the most vigorous measures.” 

‘•Good friend,” said the governor, laying his 
hand upon the shoulder of his companion, “ these 
things have not passed unnoted, but the time for 
action is not yet. At present the man enjoys a 
certain respect with some of our citizens, which it 
were unwise in us to attempt to overthrow, without 
having it first in our power to prove fully his trai- 
torous intentions.” 

“ God ha’ mercy,” burst forth the impetuous old 
soldier. “ If he be suffered to remain at large until 
the mischief be done, and he league with Claiborne 
and his faction, I fear me we shall yet have to doff 
our caps to these same treason mongers, and cry 
humbly — ‘ Save ye, sirs, we were wrong to do battle 
with you — if our houses, which we have built at 
some cost, and our lands, which are of goodly — ’” • 

‘‘ Captain Branthwayte,” interrupted the gover- 
nor, biting his lip, and speaking with the slightest 
possible degree of haughtiness, “ the lenity we have 
shown hath not been from any want of considera- 
tion for the people of Maryland, or from any luke- 
warmness in the matter of our own welfare; but 
from what we still conceive to be a judicious policy ; 
though I grieve to find it meets with an opponent 
where I looked for an approver. Our motives, at 
least, were good.” 

“Far be it from me to impugn them,” said the 
cavalier, gravely ; “ nor do I find fault with the 
general mildness of your rule. On the contrary, I 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


43 


deem it worthy of all praise ; but your Excellency 
well knows that a caged serpent is harmless, while 
one at large may cross your path, and strike his 
fangs into you unawares.” 

“ Of this we have bethought ourselves, good cou- 
sin, as thou shah find in due season. Meanwhile, 
be assured that steps have been taken to guard 
against the ill effects thou wouldst have us dread. — 
Anon we will have further speech touching this 
matter ; but not a word more now, for here comes 
Trevor and our worthy Ancient.” 

The two officers, hot with recent exercise, now 
entered the room, when the governor, after a hasty 
greeting, said — 

“What news, gentlemen? That you have not 
spared yourselves this morning, flushed faces and 
soiled array are sufficient warrant.” 

“ If we could give your Excellency any certain 
tidings in regard to the fate of Master Forster,” 
said Trevor, “ our success would have made a long 
ride less tedious. We traced him to the end of his 
journey, and on his return as far as the house of 
Dandie ; after which we divided our force into two 
detachments — the Ancient here taking charge of 
one, and proceeding homeward by the main road — 
v/hile I, with the remainder, took the nearest route, 
by this gentleman’s manor,” pointing to Captain 
Branthwayte.” 

“You say you have no certain tidings — have 
either of you gathered any information at all?” 

Trevor looked at Todkill significantly, at which 
the latter said, in reply to the governor — 

“ I know not whether, so please you, I can say 
we have learned aught concerning the young man, 
or whether it is a token belonging to another ; but 
about a mile from the smithy we suddenly came 
upon a place in the road, somewhat trampled, as if 
by the feet of men in a brief struggle ; and on 
searching more narrowly I found a pistol, and this 
kerchief, stained with blood.” 

An exclamation, instantly suppressed, escaped 
the lips of Leonard Calvert, as the Ancient placed 
the articles on a table before them. 

“To whomsoever they may belong,” he said, 
“ there hath been a foul deed done. Would to God 
I knew the doer !” 

“Is there no near friend of Forster’s in the Castle, 
who might recognise these things, if they were his ?” 
inquired Captain Branthwayte. 

“ Master Wharton might know them,” observed 
the secretary. 

“ Who waits ?” exclaimed the governor, and a 
servant entering, was forthwith despatched for the 
person referred to, and after the lapse of a few 
minutes returned, introducing the burly, light-heart- 
ed citizen, whose fair, round, laughing face, and 
merry blue eye, were as conspicuous in his present 
soldierly habiliments, as in the civil garb in which 
we first introduced him to the reader. ' 

“Your servant, gentlemen,” he began; but no 
sooner did his eyes rest upon the pistol in the hands 
of the Ancient, than he sprang forward, and ex- 
claimed abruptly — “ Whence got you this ?” 

“ Do you know it ?” asked the governor. 

“ Know it!” cried Wharton, “ know mine own 
weapon, that I lent to my good gossip and friend. 
Ralph Forster — with a special charge as to safe 
keeping, it being somewhat of a favorite with me.” 


The gentlemen exchanged glances with each 
other, and then Leonard Calvert said — 

“ Good Master Wharton, you are doubtless aware 
of your poor friend having been despatched by me 
on an errand of trust and secrecy — that he ful- 
filled this duty faithfully we have since learned ; 
but he himself is not yet returned, and this pistol 
and kerchief, found upon the road hitherward, create 
in us gloomy forebodings concerning his fate.” 

“It is the smith — on my life it is the smith,” ex- 
claimed Captain Branthwayte. 

“ Hush, cousin,” said the governor, and then 
turning to Wharton — “ Will you pardon us ?” the 
latter bowed and retired. “ Hush, cousin — let us 
not be rash in forming our conclusions in this mat- 
ter ; the man may be innocent.” 

“ Innocent !” echoed Branthwayte — “ why, then, 
is he not here ? Trevor, saw you this same smith, 
when at his house a few hours ago?” 

“ I did not — neither he nor his workmen. The 
house and smithy appeared deserted.” 

“ You hear, Leonard,” said the old soldier — 
“gone over to Claiborne and his savage allies with- 
out doubt. Had he been true, he would have pre- 
sented himself before this, along with those gentle- 
men of the council to whom Forster delivered your 
summons ; but filled with hopes of the rebel’s suc- 
cess, he hath joined him, but not before adding to 
the crime of a traitor the stain of a murderer. Oh 
that I could meet him !” 

“ Master Dandie has called to report his presence 
to your Excellency,” said the servant, suddenly en- 
tering. 

An expression of surprise passed over the coun- 
tenances of all. 

“ Well, Branthwayte, what think you now?” said 
the governor, smiling. 

“ That he is a greater villain, or an honester man 
than I have hitherto believed him,” was the reply 
of the old cavalier. > 

“ We shall see,” said the governor. “ Come, 
gentlemen.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 

I 

The quiet little private garden attached to the 
Castle, though laid ofi' with something of the quaint 
formality, was not disfigured by the grotesqueness 
which too often characterized the horticultural taste 
of the age. Bein^ in the rear of the buildings, and 
surrounded by a high wall, it formed a pleasant 
place of retirement and seclusion from the bustle 
and noise of the court-yard and offices. Hence, to 
stroll along its shaded alleys and well kept walks, 
or to enjoy the dreamy stillness of its leafy arbors 
and dim recesses, was the delight of the more par- 
ticular friends of the governor, to whom the enviable 
privilege was extended. 

To none was this beautiful little spot a source of 
more enjoyment than to Mary Branthwayte; and 
whenever on a visit to her high-born kinswoman, 
the garden, in her leisure moments, was a never 
filing attraction. Here were her favorite shrubs — 
there was a rose she had planted — a little farther on 
lourished a honeysuckle, whose wanderings she 
.lad restrained, and in the corner beyond was her 


44 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


f.ivorite arbor, shaded by the thick cool leaves of the 
vine, and generally designated by Lady Calvert 
and others, as “ Mary’s Bower.” 

It was here in the afternoon that Mary Branih- 
wayte had taken her embroidery, and seating her- 
self upon the rustic bench that formed an useful 
and appropriate ornament, busily plied her needle 
for some time in silence. Presently, however, she 
heard the little postern door open, and her attention 
was immediately afterwards more particularly ar- 
rested by the sound of voices. The were 

sufficiently near to enable her to distinguish what 
was said ; and however unwilling she might have 
been to listen, the position of the bower was such 
that she could not retreat from it without being dis- 
covered. She turned pale as she recognized, in the 
voice of one of the speakers, Arthur Cornwallis, 
and a hundred times did she repent not having re- 
mained with Lady Calvert ; but being thus cooped 
up, she was compelled to listen to the colloquy that 
ensued, while she trembled with fear, lest her own 
presence should become known, and her retreat 
broken in upon. While thus unpleasantly situated, 
she was tempted for a moment to put aside the 
foliage, and glance at the position of the speakers. 
Arthur Cornwallis stood with the open door in one 
hand, while with the other he made an impatient 
backward gesture toward the Indian girl, Neenah, 
as if bidding her retire; while the poor devoted 
creature stood in the door way, with her hands 
meekly crossed upon her bosom, and looking up 
into his face with a look of such earnest entreaty, 
that Mary Branthwayte’s eyes filled with involun- 
tary tears, and she thought to herself that to love, 
and love well, being beloved, was a source of the 
most exstatic happiness this earth could afford ; while 
to be a woman, whatever her station or degree in 
life, and to love hopelessly, brings with knowledge 
of that hopelessness, a bitterer pang than even death 
itself. What is life to her without love 1 As dew 
and sunshine to flowers, love is her aliment, and 
bright smiles the coloring to her beauty. Wanting 
these she droops and fades away, even as her pale 
sister, the fragile flower, that pines for dews and 
sunbeams. 

As Neenah stood thus humbly before Cornwallis, 
with her dark eyes cast beseechingly up to his, a 
darker cloud gathered upon the brow of the young 
man, and he said, angrily — 

“ Have I not forbid you to follow ? Go ! I wish 
to be alone.” 

“No, no, no,” she replied, sadly. “Neenah not 
go, she follow. Why she go I”* 

“Because I wish it,” said he. “ Get you away 
to my lodgings — to Master Halsey’s — any where, so 
you trouble me not. Pest on ’t, he continued, 
“ that I should be thus troubled by a foolish girl. 
Neenah, I bid you leave me instantly.” 

She shook her head despairingly. 

“How is ihisi” he exclaimed, increasing in 
anger. “Do you mock my command 1 — Why, 
what would you I” 

“ She looked up into his eyes so softly, so ten- 
derly, that even he, moved with passion as he was, 
could not help half chiding himself for speaking so 
harshly ; and he said, in a milder voice, 

“ Neenah, why do you forever hang upon my 
footsteps, clinging to me like my own shadow, even 


when I most wish you away 1 Speak — why do 
you this?” 

She hung her head for an instant, and then 
timidly lifting it, she said, in the broken accents, 
and with the artlessness of a child, 

“ Neenah love.” 

“Thou art mad, girl, to say so,” he replied, 
sharply, and with a frown, looking round, hurriedly, 
to see that none were within hearing. “Let me 
never hear such words again, I tell you this must 
not be, or we part for ever. Now get you gone !” 

“No! no! no !” she cried, casting herself at his 

feet. Neenah love dearly — how help it? You 
go, she go — you sad, she cry — you laugh, she 
laugh. No leave poor Neenah. If do,” she added, 
with the most touching pathos, “ poor Neenah all 
alone — she die.” 

“ This is folly,” said he, with callous heartless- 
ness, “ See that I be rid of you. — Ho, there, Ste- 
phen!” looking forth from the postern, and calling 
to his attendant ; “ take this wild wench away ; 
she will not hence at my bidding.” But the in- 
stant the Indian girl heard this order, she sprang to 
her feet, and drawing herself proudly up, she waved 
the man off. 

“Neenah, a Werowance’s daughter,” she said, 
loftily. “No touch her — no, no, — she go alone.” 

Thus far, she spoke slowly, and at intervals, as if 
her devotion and her pride were struggling for the 
mastery •, but it was of no use — her quick sense of 
wrong suddenly gave wa}' before her unconquera- 
ble affection, and, wringing her hands, she again 
cast herself at his feet, and burst forth, passionately, 

“ She will be good ! — She will be good ! — Nee- 
nah love very much — how can poor Neenah go 
away — she love so very much ? He say dear Nee- 
nah, she make much glad — if leave him, what do? 
— where go? — All dark, he not there.” 

“ Silly wench !” said he, with a feeling of com- 
punction that he in vain strove to resist. “You 
have said words which had better been left un- 
spoken ; yet, if you love me as you say, you will 
obey my wishes. Rise now, and wait my coming ; 
— without, if you choose, or where else you think 
proper. But mark me, and I speak not lightly; 
breathe over again what you have said this day, and 
we part for ever,” 

“ If she much good, he love her? she asked, in- 
nocently. 

“ Perhaps,” was the cold reply. 

“Perhaps! What perhaps!” she inquired, 
eagerly, and looking as if her whole soul was bound 
up in the answer. 

“ Well, well — yes, yes,” he said, peevishly. 
“There, now, what would you more?” 

One single cry of exultation escaped the lips of 
the happy creature, and she bounded off with the 
fleetness of a fawn, but quickly returned, panting 
and breathless, and before he had time to fulfil his 
intention of thrusting her away, she had parted the 
dark locks upon her forehead, and said, sadly, 

“Soon come — Neenah like bird — sad, no sing 
other bird not there ; other bird come back, sing 
come back too.” And, as with her head turned 
towards him she lingeringly departed, the closing 
of the postern gate seemed like shutting her out 
from happiness. 

“ So,” said Cornwallis, audibly, as soon as she 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


45 


had disappeared, “the silly fool dotes. I must si- 
lence this. Now, were the Manahoacks to take 
her captive again, I would give them a few of the 
trinkets they covet, and esteem it a kindness rather 
than step forward one footstep to her rescue.” 

And Mary Branthwayte heard this, and her 
heart said shame! shame!” But indignation was 
usurped by fear, when she saw him she so much 
dreaded, after passing a little way up the walk to 
the Castle, stop, — hesitate, and then suddenly re- 
trace his steps toward the bower where she was 
seated. Wishing to make the encounter as brief 
as possible, she arose, and bowing to him coldly 
but civilly, as he entered, made an attempt to pass, 
but he gently detained her, saying, as he did so, 

“Nay, sweet Lily, tarry yet a few moments; I 
would fain speak with you.” 

“ Pardon me,” she replied. “ It is not right — it 
is not seemly — nut maidenly to sit with thee in this 
secluded place, especially after — ” 

“ After what has taken place between us, you 
would say. — After your refusal to listen to my suit. 
I know it, Mary, and yet what would you have me 
dol What other resource have 1 1 If we met, 
I was avoided as if my breath was a pestilence, and 
my touch infectious; what have I done to deserve 
this]” 

“Ask your own heart, Arthur Cornwallis, it will 
speak to you more forcibly than my lips.” 

He turned pale, and shook as with a strong 
spasm ; but the agitation was so soon over that it 
passed unnoticed by the maiden, who herself trem- 
bled so much that she could scarce keep from 
falling. 

“ I do ask my heart, Mary,” he answered, speak- 
ing quickly and passionately. “ I do ask my heart, 
and it tells me I love you deeply — devotedly ; from 
my youth up you have been my idol and my 
guiding star. On my return from that unhappy 
voyage with Captain Ingle — ” here his voice fal- 
tered — “ I sought you — I poured the whole wealth 
of my love at your feet ; and you, whom I had left 
with glowing hopes and dreams of future happiness, 
blasted those hopes, and nipped that happiness 
which I fondly thought was just then attaining 
fruition. Oh, Lily, did you but know what I suf- 
fered ! Life became worthless, and the respect of 
good men seemed to me no more than the mere 
cant of worldliness. I thought I should go mad ! — 
I -was mad ! I sought the revel and the wine cup, 
but they were as oil to flame, and my love but 
burned the fiercer from the very means I had taken 
to quench it. Hear Lily, tell me — oh tell me — that 
yet there is hope ! — Give me an incentive to regain 
my good name. Let me have something to look 
forward to. Do not reject me utterly. I have 
strong passions, but I will curb those passions ; for 
your love is a charm to still them into peace. If 
you cast me off, there will be a void in my heart 
which must be filled ; a craving which excitement 
alone can subdue. I adjure you by the days of our 
happy childhood ! by the hopes I have formed ! by 
yourself, the idol I worship, I adjure you to bid 
these strugglings cease; lest I become a bye word, 
and a scorn ; a world wanderer, and a cast away.” 

“ This is cruel,” she murmured, much distressed. 

“Sav that you love me,” he continued, dropping 
on his krite, “ and I will be all that you can wish. 


The follies and the transgressions of the past shall 
be done away by the good deeds your love shall 
prompt. Do this, and noon and night will I bless 
you as my redeeming angel. No rude word shall 
pass my lips; no rude wassail or evil companion 
will I keep. I will do — ” 

“ Let me go to my father,” she said, with deep 
agitation. “ I pray you let me go to my father.” 

“ Dear Lily,” he continued, with frantic vehe- 
mence, “ say then that you love me ! that there is 
hope ! that I may have something to cling to — 
something to nerve me to wipe off the stain that 
is on my character. Do not make me wholly des- 
perate. Take the good thoughts by the hand, or 
evil acts may be the consequence of despair.” 

Mary Branthwayte wrung her hands and burst 
into tears. 

“What can I do ] What can I say 1” she 
cried. 

“ That you love me — that you love me,” he 
prompted, eagerly. 

By struggling with her feelings, in a few mo- 
, ments she gradually recovered composure sufficient 
to say, slowly and distinctly, while every word fell 
like molten lead upon his heart, 

“ Master (Cornwallis, I will not deceive you. — 
You have many noble qualities — very many. 
These qualities, with the change you speak of, 
would make you a husband worthy any maiden in 
the colony. Could I school my tongue to play my 
heart false, I might delude you, and thus be spared 
the further pain of this interview ; but it would be 
wrong to you, and to myself. Hear me then speak 
to you on this subject for the last time. Sadly I 
say to you, but firmly and decidedly — as a friend 
I shall ever esteem you — more than that we can 
never be.” 

“You must — you can — you shall!” he burst 
forth, impetuously, springing to his feet. 

“Sir!” she exclaimed, drawing herself proudly 
up. 

“ Hear me,” he cried ; “you — you love another!” 

Pale and trembling Mary Branthwayte stood be- 
fore her rejected suitor ; but when she saw his fierce 
vindictive glance, and heard him audaciously pro- 
pound a question in a manner that seemed like 
asserting a truth, her sense of womanly propriety 
was touched, and she replied, with a quiet dignity 
that effectually disguised the trepidation she usually 
felt, 

“ Master Cornwallis, I beg you to pause before 
you utter that which may lose my esteem for ever. 
Already thou hast used many rash expressions; 
these I will strive to forget, as coming from one 
who is too quick and fiery in his humor to note 
well the import of his words.” 

“ An evasion, an evasion,” cried Cornwallis, 
quickly, “ now know I that which I said was true. 
Thou dost love another, and that other is — is — ” 
he gasped out as if with difficulty — “ Trevor — I 
have seen — I have watched — a knave — a creeping, 
villainous / 

“ Shame blister your tongue, Arthur Cornwallis, 
for you speak most falsely ! a worthier gentleman 
lives not. He is your equal, sir, in birth and in 
education, and oh, how much your superior in the 
exercise of all those qualities that constitute the 


46 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


gentleman and the man ! Leave me, sir, and never, 
never speak to me again.” 

Had lightning suddenly rent asunder a tree, 
beneath which he himself stood, Arthur Cornwallis 
could not have been more startled than by this un- 
expected outburst. He shrunk into himself like a 
convicted felon, and dared not lift his eyes lest they 
should meet the indignant looks of her whose feel- 
ings he had outraged. Yet, though abashed for 
the moment, he felt he had gone too far to recede ; 
and that his only chance of safety now lay in 
endeavoring to work upon her fears so that all 
which had passed might be confined to the secrecy 
of her own bosom: so he turned toward her and 
said, with a bitter smile, 

“ Now know I it is he ; but let him beware ; heed 
well the words of a reckless man.” And then he 
approached and higsped in her ear, “thou shall never 
wed — whosoever seeks thy hand in the forest 
depths, or the broad plain ; in the chamber of the 
Castle, or at the foot of the holy altar ; I say it to 
you as I have sworn it in my heart he shall die ! 

“ Monster 1” said Mary Branthwayte, recoiling 
from him with a shudder and sinking back upon 
the seat, “ wouldst thou shed blood murderer 1 

“ Ha ! who says that,” he exclaimed, staggering 
blindly forward with a ghastly paleness, and glaring 
upon vacancy: “who says that! murderer blood. 

’T is a lie. There was no blood — not a drop — 

see ! these hands are clean and blood stains never, 
never wash out. AV ho calls me murderer, then ? 
prove it — prove it. Ha ! ha ! ha ! that ’s well said 

prove it.” And then his head sunk gradually 

upon his bosom, and his lips wreathed in an idiotic^ 
smile as they continued to murmur in a monotonous 
undertone, “prove it — prove it,” and he smiled 
again, and his head kept nodding as if in approba- 
tion. 

Dismayed and terrified, Mary Branthwayte again 
attempted to leave the bower, but her movement 
slowly recalled him to his senses. 

“Not yet, not yet,” said he, gazing wildly 

around. 

“ Let me pass, sir, I command you ! I will endure 
this no longer.” 

“ Not yet, not yet,” returned he, looking at her 
with dull eyes, within which intelligence seemed 

fast reawakening. , , 

“ I insist, sir, that you release me instantly, she 
exclaimed, fearfully alarmed, “or my cries shall 
bring hither the guard.” 

“ Nay — thou shall.” 

“ What is this,” said a voice, indignantly, from be- 
hind, and then Leonard Calvert, with the features of 
his fine, frank, open countenance, changed into lines 
of the sternest character, strode between Cornwallis 
and the Lily ; and Mary Branthwayte could only 
.«av, “ oh, sir !” as she flung herself upon her kins- 
man’s arm and hiding her face upon his shoulder, 
burst into tears. 

“ Begone, sir !” said the governor to Cornwallis, 
w'ho, shamed and aghast, stood with his eyes cast 

upon the ground. ' . 

“ Begone, sir ! my love for thy father is a shield 

between thee and present chastisement, yet if thou 
hast been saying aught beyond the rash words of a 
rejected suitor, as I opine you to be, by holy Paul ! 
nothing shall prevent me from meeting out due 


punishment. No words — I desire you to leave the 
place instantly.” 

Cornwallis turned one glance of entreaty toward 
the pale maiden, who was sobbing as if her heart 
would break, but she saw it not ; and then, with a 
confused and stupid sense of guilt, passion and 
madness, he reeled drunkenly toward the garden 
gate, and passing into the street, reached his lodg- 
ings he knew not how. Half an hour afterwards, 
a servant from the governor entered with a letter. 
Cornwallis opened it mechanically, and as his eyes 
wandered dreamily over the writing, he saw 
that his entrance to the Castle, and the gardens 
attached, was henceforth strictly forbidden. 

“ The die is cast,” said he, and a grim smile be- 
tokening the formation of a desperate resolve, passed 
over his pallid face. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

It is a beautiful property of the human mind, 
that which makes the dread of an impending evil 
more intolerable than the actual knowledge of the 
very worst that can befall a man. To him whose 
heart is not thoroughly indurated, the goading ap- 
prehension and fear of detection under which he 
labors, after the commission of a guilty action, 
constitute a heavier penance than ever was paid by 
religious enthusiast at the shrine of insulted virtue. 
It is the vulture of Prometheus for ever gnawing 
the vitals, and forever unsated. 

How little do the world know the feeling of a 
man burthened with the dreadful secret of an un- 
discovered crime 1 He has bound himself a slave 
to his own conscience, and the imperious task- 
master enjoins sleepless vigils, and days of agony ; 
increasing watchfulness and heart-leaping fears. 
The wandering eye, the pale cheek, and the hesi- 
tating speech, are signs and tokens of the strife 
within ; but the nature of that strife, the confessing 
victim could himself but feebly depict, for words 
have but little power to express the intensity of 
corporeal pain and mental suffering springing from 
such a cause. 

In honest misfortune there are pleasant remini- 
scences and cheerful hopes. In sickness there is 
ever a looking forward to sunny days, and to re- 
stored health — but in conscious guilt past joys are 
swallowed up, and the present and the future are 
shadowed by clouds and blackness, from whence 
gleams no redeeming star, and whose terrible gloom 
admits of no enlivening ray. 

Is it strange, then, that detection brings actual 
relief, when it lights the darkness as with a lurid 
glare. When it stays the vulture at the heart ; 
and in place of tlie riot within, leaves a heavy 
quietness, a dull confused languor, and a cessation 
of pain, as if the parts were stricken with numb- 
ness. The worst is known, and with the know- 
ledge of the worst comes calmness. It may be the 
calmness of despair; it maybe that of penitent 
hopefulness; but either is preferable to the mani- 
fold tortures he suffers who bears within him the 
secret of a crime he fears each moment may be 
brought to light. 

The same principle operates in a similar manner 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


47 


in matters of simple business, and in social life ; 
more particularly when the affections are concerned, 
though materially modified by thecircumsiances that 
surround it. The fear of a result, whatever that result 
may be, with its tempting illusion, its shadowing yet 
scarcely defined hopes, and its misgivings that im- 
press themselves the more firmly with every effort 
to shake them off, renders the positive knowledge 
of that which we fear, a source of far less agony 
than the pangs which had preceded it. 

For more than an hour after the receipt of the 
Governor’s missive, Arthur Cornwallis sat with his 
bands clasped upon his knees, and his head sunk 
upon his bosom, unconscious of the shadows that 
were gradually throwing their lengthened lines 
across the apartment, and rendering every object 
dim and indistinct. And even when he did raise 
his eyes and gaze about him, the stupor into which 
he had fallen still for some minutes held possession 
of his senses. At length, however, the whole of 
what had so lately occurred passed in review before 
him, and he was astonished at his own calmness. 
He coolly taxed his memory for the minutest word, 
look, or gesture ; and then, with an apathetic in- 
difference for which he knew not how to account, 
he called to mind over and over again the last 
words of Mary Branthwayte, and laughed as he 
perused once more the letter from Leonard Cal- 
vert. That laugh startled him ; it was so hollow — 
so unearthly. He sprang from his seat and peered 
with a bewildered look into the gathering darkness, 
as if he thought it issued from the lips of some one 
else ; and it was then for the first time that day 
he caught a glimpse of his features in the mirror 
before him ; and though the gloom of coming even- 
ing prevented him from scanning them accurately, 
he saw enough to assure himself of their ghastly 
paleness. And then he strove to smile, but in 
vain, for he felt he was very wretched; so he threw 
himself back into the seat he had quitted, and 
buried his face in his hands. 

How long he remained in this position he could 
not tell ; but when he next roused himself, the 
moon was rising high in the heavens, and it was 
then he suddenly recollected his engagement to meet 
Blundell. For a moment he hesitated whether he 
should go or not; but his evil angel easily tri- 
umphed over his better nature, by suggesting that, 
despised as he now must be by Mary Branthwayte, 
and shut out from all intimacy with the inmates of 
the Castle, his renewal of his former companion- 
ship with Blundell could not possibly injure him in 
the estimation of those whose esteem he had already 
lost, while perhaps the seaman could point out a 
way whereby he could retaliate upon those by 
whom he had t)een scorned. Filled with these 
thoughts, he hastily threw his cloak around him, 
for the double purpose of protection from the heavy 
dews, and as a screen to hide him from the eyes of 
any curious wayfarer he might chance to meet; 
and leaving the house hastily, yet cautiously, 
threaded the several streets to the place where the 
seaman had, on the preceding evening, so uncere- 
moniously notified him he should await his coming. 

The mill, as is already known to the reader, stood 
at the extremity of the same street, and but about a 
stone cast from the dwelling of Amy Roberts, and 
it was thither, after stationing Rugly at the ap- 


pointed rendezvous to await the coming of Corn- 
vfallis, that the seaman bent his way, saying, as he 
departed — 

“ Tell the young springald to wait my coming — 
I shall not tarry long; and hark ye, Master Rugly, 
should he ask you any questions, place your finger 
on your lips, thus — seem to know nothing, or talk 
of any and every thing but me. Make me not your 
theme. If I find on my return you have told aught 
concerning my movements, there is no power on 
earth shall shield you from a fearful punishment ; 
but be you discreet, and in due time I will mete out 
to you a fitting reward.” 

Rugly watched by the moonlight, until he saw 
the retreating figure of his mysterious companion 
pass the little wicket, and disappear within the 
garden, and then he gave vent to the fierce anger 
that had been suppressed in the presence of the man 
he so much dreaded. 

“ Punish me, will you 1 — punish me, indeed ? — 
Ha ! who am I, that you should do this ? I tell 
you, Master Braggart, the weight of your finger 
shall bring down a thunderbolt you dream not of. 
I begin to mislike this cause,” he muttered, after a 
brief pause, “ and if I could withdraw in safety — 
soft — let me think.” 

' The moment a partisan in an evil project begins 
to waver in his fidelity, he will play the traitor, if 
he can ; and Rugly, having nothing to sway his 
actions, but self interest, began already to perceive 
that he was treated with a contumely that success 
would naturally augment, rather than lessen. The 
partisan could have borne this from Claiborne, be- 
cause that wily and politic chieftain had early im- 
pressed a sense of his own superiority upon the 
mind of his follower ; but that a comparative stran- 
ger should seek to obtain this mastery over him by 
threats and indignities, roused his sluggish blood, 
and led him to half form resolutions, which, if 
adopted, would materially influence the fate of the 
colony. One thing, however, he determined upon, 
and that was to shake himself loose from Blundell, 
the first opportunity, and if the latter sought to re- 
sent, why then — 

“ Let him beware,” he muttered between his 
teeth ; “ for when I strike, there shall be others to 
back the blow.” 

Meanwhile, unconscious of the storm he had 
raised, the seaman entered the little wicket gate, 
and stepped lightly on tiptoe to the casement. The 
first object revealed by the light within was the 
person of good old Dame Whitaker rocking herself 
backwards and forwards with her hands together, 
and sighing at intervals, as if oppressed with sorrow ; 
and then his eyes wandered to the fair grief-stricken 
girl, who sat with her cheek resting upon her hand, 
and the traces of recent tears still visible upon her 
pale countenance. Once or twice he saw her lift 
her head, and look with a feverish anxiousness 
towards the door, and then again she would resume 
her pensive attitude, as if in very hopelessness. 

Apparently satisfied with his observations, the 
seaman now lifted the latch, and entered the apart- 
ment; and as he did so, Amy Roberts started to her 
feet, and ran eagerly toward him. 

“ Oh you are come at last,” said she, “ tell me — 
tell me, have you any tidings] Have you seen 
1 him ] — is he sick 1 — is he well 1 — is he a prisoner, 


48 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


or is he — ” dead, she would have added, but the 
word was choked in the utterance, and she bent 
forward, with half parted lip, to catch his hoped for, 
yet dreaded reply. 

“Fair cousin,” said Blundell, “ when the wind 
blows from all quarters of the heavens at otice, it 
passes the wit of the ablest mariner to find out the 
best way to trim his sails; so with a woman, 
when — ” 

“Nay, jest not now,” she interrupted him, with 
tearful earnestness ; “ speak — speak, I pray you, 
and say if I may yet hope.” 

“ Aye, do’ee. Will — do say so,” added Dame 
Whitaker, and the blessing of an old woman be 
upon thee for the words.” 

“ I wish I could, mother, but you see — ” 

“ No more — no more,” said Amy. “ He is gone. 
Never — never shall I see him again. Never shall I 
hear his pleasant footsteps, and his kind words. — 
What shall we do now, aunt 1 since he who was 
so kind to us is gonel And I — I treated him so 
cruelly! Wo is me! — I am very wretched — oh 
how wretched !” and she threw’ herself into a chair, 
and covering her face with her hands, burst into 
tears; while Dame Whitaker only rocked to and 
fro the more energetically, and sighed — “ Ah me !” 
and “ alack a day !” and “ poor boy !” and such like 
brief and simple, yet afflicting sentences. 

3'he seaman took a chair, and seating himself 
beside Amy, leaned towards her, and asked — 

“ Mistress Amy, did you love this same young 
Forster V* 

“Love him !” said she, looking up through her 
tears, and clasping her hands convulsively together, 
“ Love him ! ah how I loved him !” 

“ A brief flash, I hope — sudden and harmless like 
the summer lightning of this land,” said Blundell, 
.'•till bending down, and looking askance at the 
maiden as he spoke. She shook her head, and 
murmured sadly — 

“ No, no, no !” 

“ Dear good Ralph— ah me!” sighed the tender- 
hearted old lady. 

“ Fair Amy,” said the seaman, “ man’s life is at 
the best but as the destiny of a goodly ship. In his 
first quiet harbor he rides the peaceful waters in 
fearless security, and when his sails are set, and he 
goes forth gallantly to battle with the world, a summer 
sea and a blue sky make every day a holiday, and 
his pleasures, like the foam that wreathes itself 
about him, are sparkling and beautiful, but glide, 
insensibly, from his touch. Little does he dream 
that the scarcely panting waves before him may 
hide treacherous rocks, or the cloudless sky may 
darken his way, or that the storm wind may wake 
from its slumbers, and plough deep vallies and pile 
mountains on the face of the liquid plain. Then 
comes the tug, and the strain, and the strife, and 
the agony ; the horror of the lightning flash, and 
the impending death that curls above, or yawns 
beneath. Some go down at once — some bear up 
bravely for a while, to sink in sight of a haven — 
some, crippled and worn, crawl sluggishly into their 
destined port ; while a few of the stouter sort gather 
a glorious .freight, dash the brine from their lips, 
W'restle fiercely with the elements, and cleave their 
homeward path unharmed amidst surrounding deso- 
lation. Grieve not, therefore, gentle cousin, that 


this youth hath been lost thus early in life’s voyage 
— frames stronger knit than his have met with as 
untoward a fate, and time has healed the tribulation 
of those who mourned them.” 

There was a wild eloquence in this speech of 
Blundell’s, that started the fair girl in the midst of 
her grief, and caused her to hang upon his words, 
even to the momentary forgetting of her sorrow’s ; 
but when he spoke of time bringing relief to the 
mourner, she replied, despondingly — 

“ That cannot be, Master Blundell ; for the heart 
of her who truly loves, is buried in the grave of him 
to whom she gave it.” 

“ Oh but it does, Amy,” said the good dame, 
adding, with simple piety, “ we must remember that 
He who tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, is not 
less merciful to the creatures of his hand, and though 
I don’t know exactly what Will means when he 
likens men to ships — ” 

“ Nor I, neither. Dame,” said the seaman, with a 
light laugh. 

“ Vet I dare say he means well,” continued she, 
as if unconscious of the interruption ; “ I dare say 
he means well. Alack,” she sighed, “ this is a sad 
w’orld — ” 

“ I shall never see him more! — wo is me! — I 
shall never see him more !” exclaimed the distracted 
maiden, and her tears burst forth afresh ; and she 
gave way to that momentary despair, which the 
young heart too often experiences, when its fondest 
hopes and brightest expectations are blasted by a 
terrible and untoward event ; for the fearfulness of 
the change from joy, to the abandonment of the 
wildest grief, at all times cause a more utter pros- 
tration of the spirit, from the sudden and unexpect- 
ed nature of the incident that occasions it. 

The distressing scene of which he was a witness, 
was but ill-suited to the reckless mood of the sea- 
man, whose feelings had been steeled by the ex- 
cesses of a roving life, to a callous indifference to 
suffering. Neither did it chime with the purpose 
of his present visit. His first introduction of him- 
self to the family, as the veritable cousin whom they 
had so long supposed to be dead, and who, in truth, 
was so, as the reader is already aware, was merely 
in the careless spirit of adventure so characteristic 
of the man, rather than for any definite object; but 
when he had seen Amy, her beauty, and the art- 
lessness of her manners, led him to resolve to win 
her. He recked not much how — whether by the 
assiduities of a lover, or lion-like; but he swore to 
himself she should be his, by fair and open wooing, 
if she met his advances, and if rejected, by means 
which he had never before shrunk from using, and 
would not hesitate to use again. True to his in- 
tentions, he again attempted to turn the current of 
her thoughts, by saying — 

“ Tears are sad spoilers of comeliness, gentle 

Amy, and become not eyes so bright as yours 

Leave them, then, to the prude who has outlived 
her market — to the widow who may not wed again 
— to the spendthrift over his last gold Carolus — to 
the whipped urchin — or to the old man in his second 
childishness; but let youth and beauty throw care 
overboard, give jollity the helm, while winds and 
waves keep tune to the melody of light laughter 
and sw’eet voices.” 

“You are a poet, as well as a sea philosopher,” 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


49 


said Amy, who felt compelled, in courtesy, to make 
some reply to the Seaman’s rude attempt at conso- 
lation. 

“ Not T,” replied he ; “ it is true in my wanderings 
I have picked up odd bits of knowledge of different 
kinds, wise saws from the lips of grey beards, pretty 
girds and quips from witty humorists — and finical 
sayings uttered by Lord Finic, while tapping his 
pouncet box, and discoursing daintily of his ‘ sweet 
enemy, and most dear mistress, “ la belle France.” ’ 
Yet these things have been stowed away in such 
an ill fashion, that often, when I search for gravity, 
up struggles a merry conceit ; and when I seek a 
broad jest or a witty retort, up labors a grave maxim, 
or a solemn reflection, and shoulders its ponderous 
way, in spite of all I can do to the contrary.” 

“ There is one thing I fear you have forgotten to 
add to your store,” said Amy. 

“ Aye ! what is that, mistress 1” inquired he. 

“ Feeling for the woes of others,” she replied, 
seriously. 

“ Humph, that depends pretty much upon who 
they are that I am to feel for.” 

“ To the true-hearted it matters nothing,” said 
Amy, “ for your fellow man.” 

“Fellow man!” echoed the Seaman, scornfully. 
“ Who is he — where walks he — what lacks he — 
what has he done for me, that I should lo^e himi 
or I for him, that he should think of me 1 He is 
but a mote in the sunbeam, fighting his way through 
life, and I another jostling him. What matters it 
whether he or I become maimed, or halt, or blind, 
and are thrust aside] Our places are soon filled — 
the world goes on as usual, and but few know, and 
fewer care, that a mote hath departed from among 
them.” 

“Master Blundell,” said Amy, with beautiful 
simplicity, “ my heart tells me you are wrong, and 
yet I cannot answer you.” 

“ To be sure he is wrong,” said Dame Whitaker, 
who had been for some time listening to the collo- 
quy ; “to be sure he is wrong. Ah me! we are 
bad enough as it is ; but if what he says were true, 
none but the stronger and the most wicked could 
prosper.” 

“ Gentle Mistress Amy,” said the Seaman, in 
tones so low and almost musical, that the maiden 
litfed her sorrowful eyes, and looked into his face 
wonderingly. “ You must not think that all the 
wayward and foolish things my lips have breathed 
are avowed by me as my belief. We mariners are 
compelled to take advantage of any wind that offers ; 
and then, by working the ship with such poor skill 
as we possess, make our haven in the best way we 
can. So with my rambling thoughts— I use such 
as come, and then try to steer clear of all the rocks 
and quicksands they may chance to bring in my 
way. Thus, then, it is, if ray levity be too light, or 
my gravity too heavy, I pray you impute it rather 
to my catching at the first things that present them- 
selves, even though their nature be improper to the 
time, and their costume over motlyfor the occasion, 
than to any wish to create an ill impression where 
I would fain meet with no feeling less warm than 
the most generous regard.” 

Keenly did the Seaman fix his dark, luminous 
eyes upon the maiden while he spoke; until, as he 
continued, she seemed gradually to lose all power 
4 


of resisting their thrall, and then a mist swam before 
her, and through the mist shone two burning orbs, 
but all else was indistinct and dim. Even when 
he had ceased, she still retained her motionless and 
rapt attitude, and it was not until a brief space of 
time had passed, that she gathered sufficient recol- 
lection to reply. 

“ Master Blundell, I am a simple girl, and scarce 
know how to answer you ; yet this much you may 
well believe, that the kindness of a kinsman must 
ever win the gratitude of the desolate, though he 
may not be able to remove their heart heaviness.” 

Gratitude is a very commendable virtue, very,” 
said the Seaman, in an equivocal tone. 

“It is all we have to give,” was Amy’s calm, but 
sad reply. 

“ In man,” continued the Seaman, throwing him- 
self back in his seat with seeming carelessness, yet 
watching with a stealthy glance the effect of his words 
upon the maiden ; “ In man gratitude is oftener a 
baser metal than the true coin. I have known the 
time when to him who should say — ‘ Will, my need 
calls for a few pieces,’ I have thrown my purse, and 
my reward for so doing was cold unthankfulness. 

I am speaking of men, mark ye ! In woman, it is 
said that gratitude is often a forerunner of love 
towards the giver. What says gentle Amy ]” 

“No honest mind can be otherwise than deeply 
affected by a generous Jtction,” she replied. 

“ If I have heard aright,” he continued, turning 
his head abruptly to where Dame Whitaker was 
seated, yet still keeping his easy position. “ If I have 
heard aright, the young man who is lost was very 
generous.” , 

“ Indeed he was,” said the old lady ; “many ’s 
the time he hath relieved me in my need. Oh, he 
had ever a warm heart and an open hand !” And 
at the remembrance the good dame again com- 
menced rocking to and fro, and Amy’s tears burst 
forth afresh. 

The Seaman then turned to Amy, and said in 
those sweet low tones that sounded to her like the 
murmuring of a strange yet moving melody — 

“Fair cousin, why should you mourn as if in 
very hopelessnes, who have youth and beauty for 
your glorious dower 1 'Iffiat merchant who loses a 
pearl of goodly price, but ill repays himself by sitting 
down with folded hands, idly bewailing its loss, 
while he who is of a more active humor, may 
gain one of double its value in the time the other 
thus foolishly throws away. Cease, then, these 
lamentings — be yourself again — think not to obtain 
that which is past having — look cheerfully to the 
future, and happiness and fortune may yet be 
yours.” 

“ How can that be. Master Blundell ] In losing 
him, I have lost all that made life pleasant.” 

“ Not all, gentle Amy,” said he, whispering softly, 
and with an eager warmth in his manner that 
caused the maiden to start and look up to him in 
some surprise ; but, when his bright, fierce, fiery 
gaze met her’s, a sensation of fear crept over her, 
and she hid her face with her hands. 

“Not all,” said he. “Listen to me. In my 
wanderings through the world I have not been un- 
mindful that a well-filled purse is the best recom- 
mendation a stranger can exhibit in a strange place ; 
and I thought, also, that there might come a day 


50 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


when the gains of my successful venture could be 
put out to a good interest. That time has come; 
for where could they be better bestowed than upon 
my kinswomen] Amy, I would fain supply the 
place of your friend.” 

Amy trembled under the influence of strange 
feelings, and she could hear the beating of her heart. 
A dreadful suspicion was beginning to weigh heavy 
upon her ; but she gasped out — 

“I — I — do not understand you.” 

He instantly passed his arms about her, and bend- 
ing his head to her ear, replied with passionate em- 
phasis — 

“In home, and in heart.” 

The sting of a serpent could not have made her 
leap from her seat more suddenly. His insidious 
coil was instantly thrown off, and she stood con- 
fronting him, her slender stature seemingly dilating, 
and her eyes filled with an intense fire, from which 
he shrunk as if it were lightning that would blast 
him. 

“Now, indeed, I know you! Monster — mur- 
derer! Aye ! start — it is true — true ! Who taunted 
him when last he was here ] Who drew his sword 
upon him ] Who, when I prevented that open act 
of blood, insulted him with a look as he left! — 
Who — who but you — you have murdered him in 
cold blood whom you thought to supplant. It is 
all before me now — clear — and he shall be avenged. 
Kinsman though you be, yohr guilt shall not escape 
justice. I am weak to enforce my words now. — 
Away then while you can ; for, as I live, to-morrow 
shall not pass without your being hunted like a 
beast of prey — hunted to the very death !” 

“ Simple wench,” said he, fiercely seizing her, 
“ are you mad 1 What cared I for him that is 
gone 1 By every thing that you deem holy, I swear 
I harmed him not. Take heed, then, what you do 
to rouse me — be wise in time — lake the profler I 
have made you.” 

“ Never — never !” ' 

“Ha! beware — I am stronger than you think 
me, and laugh to scorn your womanish threats. — 
Again I say, take the profler — I will forget the past 
— you shall revel in silks and satins, and gems shall 
be to you but as shining baubles.” 

“ Monster ! let me go!” 

“ Once more, take the proffer.” 

“ Not if want and beggary stared me in the 
face !” 

“Then mark me!”-’ he exclaimed, with a deep 
imprecation, “ I will have you, though you were 
trenched within stone walls, and guarded by harque- 
buss and culverin. I will have you, though the 
next minute my heart’s blood stain your feet — I 
swear it by the black flag and the deep sea !” The 
next instant he had passed the threshhold, cleared 
the wicket, and was in the open street; while Amy, 
deathly pale, and trembling from head to foot, at 
his menaces, sank upon the floor, deprived utterly 
of sense and motion. 


CHAPTER XV. 

With no stinted speed, the Seaman reached the 
mill — Cornwallis was already there. Tiie briele.s 


possible recognition passed between them, and then 
Blundell said — “ Come, sirs, the boat waits — quick 
— quick, time presses ; if I mistake not, a few min- 
utes w'ill suffice to bring the guard down upon us.” 

“ The boat ! what boat ]” asked Cornwallis, look- 
ing at the Seaman for an explanation. 

“ This is no place to answer questions,” said he, 
earnestly ; “ follow me, and you shall know all.” 

“ Pardon me,” replied Cornwallis, drawing him- 
self up haughtily ; “ My promise to meet you ex- 
tended no further than this place. If you have 
aught to say, let it be said at once — if not, I return 
to my home.” 

The rebuff so lately met wdth, had raised the 
naturally vindictive temper of th Seeaman almost to 
the pitch of madness, which the cavalier words of 
Cornwallis were in no wise calculated to allay. — 
Grasping the latter fiercely by the arm, he drew him 
apart from Rugly, and hissed in his ear — 

“ Are you aweary of your life, that you seek to 
bay me 1 — or do you forget who I am I” Then 
changing his voice, he continued — “ Come, come. 
Master Cornwallis, we must be friends. I have 
much for your private attention, but I like not to 
speak where walls and dark corners may hide a 
listener. On the water we can look around us, and 
see that no prying knave intrudes upon us una- 
wares. ..Another reason is, I have been speaking 
somewhat over-forwardly to some persons up the 
street, who may, perhaps, incite their friends to dog 
my footsteps; not that I care for myself, mind ye, 
but I deemed it the more prudent for you that we 
should leave this spot for the safer element. In a 
little retreat I have a few miles below the city, we 
can confer in safety. Dare you trust me V’ 

The Seaman frankly held out his hand with such 
an air of open-heartedness, that Cornwallis, though 
not deceived in the character of the man, softened 
the tone of his reply. 

“ I have known you sufficiently long, Captain 
Blundell,” said be, “ to feel that you will abide by 
your word, whether it be for good or evil. Promise 
me, then, that no restraint shall be put upon my 
inclination, should I see fit at any moment to re- 
turn to St. Mary’s ; — I, on my part, pledging my 
word of honor to be mute as to what I may hear or 
see.” 

Blundell mused for a moment in deep thought, 
and then said — “ If it were to such as he, yonder, I 
would give no pledge ; but your humor I am willing 
to indulge.” 

“ Then I will with you,” said Cornwallis ; and 
as he spoke, a dark shadow glided silently by, and 
made towards the river, but neither of the speakers 
saw it pass. 

“ Come, Master Rugly !” cried the Seaman, 
moving forward. 

“ Whither!” inquired the Partisan, hanging 
back. 

“ Move you on, Cornwallis,” said the Seaman ; 
“ my friend seems a little disinclined to accompany 
us, but I can persuade him.” 

With the blandest manner possible, and a smile 
that would have deceived the most guarded, had it 
not been for the lurking devil that still peered out 
from his keen dark eyes, Blundell approached the 
refractory Partisan. 

‘ Dear Master Rugly,” said he, with apparently the 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


51 


most considerate kindness, though those who knew 
him well would have dreaded this mode of speech, 
as presaging the worst and deadliest explosion of 
wrath. “ Dear Master Rugly, I am grieved to find 
you incline to part from me now. Consider well 
of it, my friend ; I have great hopes of you, and 
your welfare is very, very dear to me. We go 
but to meet a few friends — true hearts of steel for 
you — men that will clink a cannikin to your better 
acquaintance, and grapple a worthy gentleman like 
you to their heart of hearts. Oh, if you will but 
join us, we ’ll make a glorious night of it.” 

“ I — I cannot go,” stammered Rugly. 

“ Tut, tut ! I know better,” rejoined his Com- 
panion, gaily. “ There shall be wine, boy, of the 
best, and no lack, I warrant you ; and song and mer- 
riment. Think not I am always sharp and currish 
in my humor ; I can laugh with the loudest ; aye, 
and you shall too — so say no more, but on.” The 
wine was a great inducement, but Rugly still per- 
severed in declaring his intention to remain on 
shore. 

“ Well,” said the Seaman, laughing, “I should 
be sorry to lose you ; but you will be persuaded — 

I know you will.” 

“ Then you know more than I do,” said Rugly, 
growing the more intractable as he found his com- 
panion treating the matter so lightly. 

“To be sure — to be sure— d ’ye see, I am certain 
you will come. You only want a little pressing.” 

“ Not I, i’ faith ; so good bye to ye, Captain 
Blundell.” 

The Seaman laughed louder than before ; and 
as the Partisan turned to depart, he stayed him, 
playfully, with his left hand, while with his right 
he carefully detached a pistol from his belt. 

“ Let a mute friend plead with me,” said he, 
drawing back the cock, and giving Rugly’s fears 
the benefit of the ominous click, as he presented 
the barrel directly at his companion’s breast. 

“ Gentle Master Rugly, I call this delicate piece of 
workmanship ‘ persuasion it hath such a winning 
way about it. I never knew a man it hath spoken 
to, either quietly or otherwise, but that he became 
suddenly a convert to its wishes, expressed through 
your humble servant. What say you, will you 
honor us T’ 

“I — I will call the guard!” cried Rugly, in 
alarm. 

“ Do n’t do that,” said the Seaman, pleasantly ; 

“ it would be a pity they should have the trouble 
of taking back your corpse. You are a young 
man, and a rash, or you would not talk so. Come, 
my dear Hal, let ‘ persuasion’ carry it.” 

With a faint laugh, and a weak attempt to pass 
it off as a good jest, Rugly, thoroughly terrified, 
led the way to the boat, but not without vowing in 
his inmost soul to take ample revenge the first op- 
portunity that offered. 

Having seen his companions seated, Blundell 
took the helm, and giving a few brief directions to 
the oarsmen, who were four in number, the light 
craft shot silently out from the shadowy nook 
where it had lain concealed, and was soon beyond 
gun-shot from the shore. It was then, for the first 
time, that the quick eye of the marinerdetected the 
presence of a stranger. 

“ How is this ?” said he, turning sharply to the 


men. “ Which of you has dared to bring any one 
from shore without any orders!” 

The men looked at one another, and then at the 
person to whom he pointed, and all vehemently 
disclaimed any knowledge of the intruder. 

“ Lay to, then,” said the Seaman, with an oath. 
And as the men obeyed, he called out — 

“ Ho, you, sir, with the mantle !” 

At the word, the stranger shifted her position to 
a vacant seat beside Cornwallis, and, dropping the 
cloak that had hitherto concealed her sex, revealed 
to his startled and angry gaze the features of the 
Indian girl Neenah. 

^ “ Mad wench,” said he, “ what brought you 
from home!” 

“Not home now,” she replied, pointing to the 
city. “ Where you go, that my home.” 

“Master Cornwallis,” said Blundell, “when I 
required your presence, I needed not that of your 
leman. This is a stretch of authority I allow no 
man.” 

“ On my word — on my life,” said Cornwallis, 
“ she came unbidden ; and her being here is as un- 
welcome to me as to yourself!” 

“ If that be the case,” replied the Seaman, “ the 
matter can soon be settled. Two hands aft, here, 
and throw this woman overboard.” 

Cornwallis started, and Neenah trembled and 
clung to his arm. 

“ If one thing love me,” she said — “ a cat, a 
dog, a squirrel — I no hurt it myself — see nobody 
hurt it. Neenah love him — he save her once — 
heart not hard now!” 

“ Stay !” said Cornwallis, touched with her art- 
less appeal, as the men laid their hands upon her. 

“ One moment ! I — ” 

“ Over with her !” shouted Blundell, furious at 
the delay. 

“ Hear me !” cried the young man, as Neenah 
threw herself upon his breast, and looked up im- 
ploringly into his face. 

“ Who stays !” exclaimed the Seaman, with a 
stamp of his foot. “ By hell, he dallies with his 
life!” 

Cornwallis made another unavailing attempt to 
speak, but was instantly checked by the Seaman, 
with a fearful execration ; and he felt that the hold 
of Neenah was gradually loosening, notwithstand- 
ing all his efforts to prevent it. Cornwallis was 
not yet all a villain ; and as he recollected the almost 
idolatry with which the poor girl worshiped him, 
his better feelings prevailed, and he determined to 
rescue her, even at the hazard of his own life. 
Rapid as the resolution was formed, it came too 
late. A sharp jerk that brought him to his knees, 
tore loose the feeble hold of Neenah, and the next 
instant, a heavy splash and a wild shriek told her 
fate. Springing aft with one desperate bound, he 
grasped the Seaman Blundell by*the throat,Jand ex- 
claiming — “ Thou double damned villain !” dis- 
charged a pistol at his head. Well was it for 
Blundell that the boat was suddenly depressed on 
one side by the very hands of her whose life he had 
so wantonly assailed. Neenah, on rising, caught 
and clung there, and had it not been for this unex- 
pected circumstance, his career would have ended 
that instant. As it was. his face was blackened, 
and his hair singed : so narrow was the escape. 


52 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


Dreadful was the display of passion by the Sea- 
man, at this unlocked for assault. The blood 
rushed to his brow till the veins stood out like 
whipcord. His teeth was fiercely clenched, and 
his hand sought the ready dagger to stab his assail- 
ant to the heart ; but while his arm was uplifted 
for the blow, his attention was drawn to a cutlass 
gleaming in the moonlight. 

“Shall I strike her hands off, Captain T’ ex- 
claimed one of the ruffians. “ She is clinging to the 
boatl” 

Instantly divining the reason of his remaining 
unharmed, Blundell lowered his weapon, and said, 

•“ Drag the poor wretch in, she hath saved my 
life. As for you, sir,” turning to Cornwallis, 
“what have you to say, that I lay you not dead at 
my feet 1” 

“ Nothing, except that death would have been 
more welcome had I succeeded ; but your time will 
come soon.” 

Again the Seaman’s eyes gleamed, and his hand 
sought his dagger. There was a pause of several 
minutes, during which Cornwallis returned the 
Seaman’s look with one of equal daring. 

“No,” said Blundell; “you shall live. Had 
you flinched, I would have taken your heart’s 
blood.” 

‘During the next half hour there was a moody 
silence, unbroken, save by the regular dip of the 
oars, and the seething of the water as it was parted 
by the sharp bows of the boat. Rugly, who had 
remained a mute spectator of the attack made by 
Cornwallis upon the Captain, now sat with one hand 
over the side of the frail vessel, toying carelessly 
with the foam, bitterly lamentin'g in his own mind 
the unsuccessful issue of the attempt upon Blun- 
dell’s life, and now framing schemes of retaliation 
for the indignity he had received at the hands of his 
overbearing companion. 

Cornwallis neither spoke nor stirred ; but with 
a gloomy frown upon his brow, awaited, in cold 
rsullenness, whatever fate Blundell’s sanguinary dis- 
iposition, or -iris, calculating policy should think 
^proper to decree.; while Neenah, with her long 
tdarJi and wet tresses thro wn back, watched eagerly 
ttnVil jSae caughtMs eye l fixed on hers ; when, with 
one finger upon her lip t o enjoin silence, her right 
hand glided c^iUtaously i'nto the folds of her gar- 
toient, and dis*iO«frd the hidt of a small poinard, with 
nvh'ich kQe-ifiaade a significant gesture towards Blun- 
-dell. 

CornwalUs*hent down and whispered softly — 

“ My poor girl think not of it — at all events not 

jjovv put it up carefully ; perhaps]after a while we 

may need H.'” 

“ He say — ^I do,” was the affectionate response. 

Silence there !” said Blundell. “ Ah ! what is 
that 1 Ship your oars my men and give a sharp 
lookout — something is coming this way.” 

After a brief interval, during which most of them 
gazed intently down the river, Blundell said to the 
man who stood at the bow shading his eyes with 
his iiand, 

Well, Shaw, what do you make out 1” 

“ A yawl, I think, perhaps some fishermen going 
up to St. Mary’s.” 

“ At the mention of a yawl, (he breath of Corn- 
wallis came short and thick. His lips quivered, 


and he murmured in an under tone of the greatest 
agony. 

“ Oh God, if it should be ” 

“ Whatl” asked the Seaman, quickly. 

“ The Dorothy.” 

“ Bah ! what of the Dorothy I” said Blundell, 
contemptuously ; but scarcely was the word out of 
his mouth before a voice came across the waters, 
hailing him and bidding him wait the coming of 
the speaker. 

“ ’T is he — ’t is my father,” groaned the recreant 
son, and he sank down and covered his face with 
his hands. 

“ He — what brings him here 1” said the Seaman. 

“ He is on his return from reconnoitering Kent 
Island,” replied Rugly. “I heard yesterday that 
he was gone thither.” 

“ Ha ! What number of men has he 1 — quick — 
quick.” 

“ Some twenty, as I guess.” 

“ As you guess, fool — do you know 1” 

“Yes, twenty.” 

“ Armed, say you 1” 

“ To the teeth, and the Dorothy mounts a cul- 
vcrin at her bow, I saw it taken from the Castle 
myself.” 

Foaming with rage and disappointment, Blundell 
brought the boat shortly about and made towards 
the city. Nor was this movement undiscovered by 
those in the yawl, for the next minute a report was 
heard, and a bullet from au harquebuss whistled a 
few feet above their heads. 

“ Pretty well for a beginning,” said the Seaman, 
coolly, as he turned round to see whether the stranger 
gained upon him ; for the wind was fresh and every 
sail of the yawl appeared to be set. 

“ Had we not better stop and speak them fair?’^ 
asked Rugly, whose timidity shrunk from such 
dangerous odds. 

“ Do you wish to be thrown to the fishes, Mas- 
ter Ruglyl” enquired Blundell. “If it is needful to 
lighten the boat I shall not forget you, rest as- 
sured.” 

As the Dorothy came nearer, and the forms of 
individuals could be seen on either side, another shot 
was fired, and with more effect, for one of the 
oarsmen fell back mortally wounded. It was 
evident the assailants knew it for they immediately 
cheered. , 

“ Master Rugly, if you would have a chance for 
your life, take Rough Ben’s place. Hither Daun- 
ton, my harquebuss, some one of them shall keep 
your messmate company.” 

Cornwallis started at the name, and as the man 
stepped across, with the weapon in his hand, he 
said, with a look of deadly aversion, “ You here I” 

“ Alive yet, master,” said the fellow w ith a mali- 
cious grin, that brought the blood into the other’s 
face. 

True to his vaunt, on the discharge of his piece, 
Blundell saw a slight confusion on board the yawl, 
and then, several fired at him in quick succession. 
A slightly contemptuous curl of the lip alone mani- 
fested what was passing in his mind as the water 
was ploughed up by the bullets on either hand of 
him. 

Another volley was now poured in with directed 
aim, but the effect was averted by a masterly move- 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


53 


raent of the helm, though at the cost of bringing 
the opposing parties nearer to eaeh other. 

The situation of those on board the boat became 
every instant more perilous. In the stillness of the 
night they could hear the half-suppressed voices of 
the occupants of the yawl, and the Seaman was 
soon aware, from the usual hubbub, and the gather- 
ing of men about the bows, that something was in 
preparation that nearly concerned his safety. 

The occasion of this stir was soon made appa- 
rent. In a minute or two afterwards, the small 
piece of ordinance, called a culverin, was brought 
to bear upon the fugitives, and then, as if unwilling 
to sacrifice so many lives, the elder Cornwallis 
again called out, 

“ Heave to, or by all that is good I sink you !” 

“ Bend to it, and give way,” said the Seaman, in 
a deep, stern voice ; and as the men, with a full 
sense of the imminent danger staring them in the 
face, strained every thew and sinew at his com- 
mand, a flash and a loud report gave them warning 
that the pursuer was determined to fulfill his threat 
to the very letter. Had the shot struck them they 
would have been dashed to atoms, but it touched 
the water within a few feet of the flying boat, and 
sending up a cloud of spray, ricochetted over their 
heads, so near, indeed, that one of the men swore 
he felt the rush of the wind as it passed by. 

In the diminutive size of his little craft lay 
Blundell’s hope of eventful escape, and as he heard 
his pursuers again loading, he felt rather relieved 
than otherwise; for he knew it required the most 
delicate handling to cause so cumbrous an instru- 
ment to strike an object so small as the boat in 
which he sat, and he trusted, from this over eager- 
ness of the old Cavalier, to pluck a desperate safety, 
while hev said to himself, that if a single expert 
marksman had been judiciously stationed, he might 
have picked them oft', one by one, without their 
having the power to offer any available resis- 
tance. 

Accustomed to look up to Blundell upon any 
emergency, the sailors now cast anxious glances 
toward him ; but they saw nothing in his face except 
a consciousness of his own power to effect their 
escape. It is true there was a deeper frown upon 
his brow, and a more fiery light in his dark eyes, 
but these signs in him were rather auguries of suc- 
cess than of possible discomfiture ; and so they 
toiled on to St. Mary’s, full of confidence in the 
resources of their Captain, and yet not altogether 
without sundry misgivings, lest his daring should 
over-leap his prudence. 

Several times they attempted to edge away from 
before the yawl for the purpose of passing her, but 
in every instance they were baffled by the vigilance 
of the commander ; and the Seaman finding that he 
lost ground by so doing, at length desisted, and 
made up his mind to pass St. Mary’s and disem- 
bark on the edge of the forest beyond. 

The elder Cornwallis, too, feeling secure of 
capturing the fugitives, if he could keep them be- 
fore him as far as the city, now refrained from 
firing, contenting himself v;ith taking such mea- 
sures as he deemed would make it little short of 
madness in them to endeavor to evade him. 

This sense of security on the part of those on 
board the Dorothy, filled the Seaman with intense 


thought, feverish indeed, yet not unmixed with 
hope. 

“ If,” thought he, “ they will only keep their 
pieces silent a little longer, we may yet pass before 
any boats can put out to intercept us, and if the 
boats do come,” his fingers clutched the tiller con- 
vulsively, “let the fools look to the consequences. 
If they will have blood, they shall have it to sur- 
feiting.” 

While thus pondering over the possible result of 
the chase, the two boats still maintained about the 
same distance from each other as at first. 

A cheering word or two, uttered briefly ini at 
intervals, was all that Blundell vouchsafed to his 
men, who, red and panting, and with the perspira- 
tion streaming from off them, still labored unre- 
mittingly, while their persevering enemy, close at 
their heels, with her out-spread sails, kept up the 
chase with graceful ease, as if in taunting mockery 
of the fearful struggles of those whom she pursued. 

At length St. Mary’s, the hoped for and the 
feared, was dimly seen in the distance and a visible 
excitement came over the countenance of all ; even' 
the hitherto calm and resolute features of Blundell, 
underwent a slight change — his forehead was close- 
ly knit, his eyes seemed to emit a more paleful 
light, and his nether lip was only held from quiver- 
ing by being tightly compressed between his teeth. 
A frequent change of position, also, as if unable to 
settle himself composedly in his seat, gave token 
that his body unconsciously partook of the restless- 
ness of his mind. Rugly and Cornwallis were both 
pale, though in the latter it was not from actual fear 
so much as shame in being found in such company ; 
for he was well aware his father would not fail to 
recognize Blundell, whom he had formerly known, 
though under another and more dreaded name. 

The pulse of Blundell beat quicker as St. Mary’s 
became every minute more distinct in the moon- 
light ; and he looked first towards the city, which 
seemed as yet in undisturbed quiet, and then his 
eyes reverted to the Dorothy, where all on board 
appeared desirous of emulating the same awful 
stillness. He began now to think the chances of 
escape were turning in his favor, but he was soon 
to be undeceived, for scarcely had a minute elapsed 
before three guns, fired in succession from the yawl, 
and answered almost instantly from the town, made 
him catch his breath and watch with eagerness 
what was next to befall. An awful pause succeeded, 
in which the hurried whispers of the men might 
have been distinctly heard, as several boats, well 
manned, pushed off from the wharf, and were now 
rowing down the river guided by a signal light from 
the Dorothy. 

The swarthy face of the Seaman darkened, and 
for a moment he determined to sell his life as dearly 
as possible ; artd then, again, it seemed as if he had 
changed his mind, for calling to the man he said, 

“ Avast, and lay to! keep ready to do as I bid, 
and on the word. But first drink of this, and drink 
heartily,” and he threw a flask toward them, then 
standing up he called out to those on board the 
Dorothy — 

“ Hillo ! what craft is that I” 

“ The Dorothy — Captain Cornwallis,” replied a 
voice. 


54 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


“Well, then,” said he, camly, “tell Captain 
Cornwallis we have surrendered.” 

A deep, heavy murmur arose among the sailors. 

“ Peace,” said he, in a low, stern tone ; and then 
the voice of Captain Cornwallis was heard, telling 
them to remain where they were till he came up. 

“ Aye, aye, sir,’* was the reply of Blundell, as he 
resumed his seat at the helm. 

“ Now,” said he to the men, “ make ready — 
grasp your oars firmly, and when I say the word 
‘give way,’ pull as if death was at your heels.” 

The boat’s head was swung round towards the 
Dorothy, and the men, with oars in hand, awaited 
in eager, breathless suspense the command of Blun- 
dell. Presently the Dorothy approached, they could 
hear the rushing of the foam about her bows, and 
could see the men clustering to her side ready to 
receive their prisoners. It was an anxious moment 
for all — every heart beat audibly, for the boats from 
St. Mary’s were rapidly bearing down. 

“ Are you ready V’ said Blundell, in a whisper. 

“ All ready,” was the reply ; the Dorothy being 
being nearly up to them. 

“ Now, then, give way — for your lives — for your 
lives !” shouted the Seaman. 

Simultaneously the men laid back to their task — 
the boat shot close to the side of the yawl, and as 
it passed, with the speed of an arrow, Blundell 
stood bolt upright, and taking off* his cap, inquired, 
with sarcastic politeness, of the astonished and 
hunderstricken Cavalier, “ if Capt. Cornwallis had 
any commands for Kent Island V’ 

“ By God !” said the veteran, stamping with 
rage, “ it is the traitor Ingle ! a hundred pounds to 
him who shoots him down — a hundred pounds for 
the head of the Rover.” 

Many rushed to the stern of the vessel and fired, 
but the only answer to the shots was a low laugh 
of derision, and a taunt of defiance. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

We must now return and take up another link 
in the chain of our narrative ; and to do so, it is 
necessary to go back as far as the capture of Ralph 
Forster, and relate what afterwards befell him. 

Blindfolded, his arms pinioned, and by the mus- 
cular strength of Gib fastened upon his own horse, 
Forster was led through the forest with scarcely a 
word passing betw'een himself and his conductors, 
except a stray injunction now and then to remain 
silent or worse might befall him; a line of policy 
he was the more inclined to follow, inasmuch as 
the ligatures about him made any attempt at re- 
sistance an act of sheer folly. 

Thus constrained, he gave up implicitly to his 
captors; bending at the word of Gib to avoid the 
limbs of trees when they swung too low across the 
path, and surrendering the reins of his steed to his 
laconic guide, whose sturdy grasp, in fording the 
numerous water courses that intersected their way, 
was more than once put into well timed requisition. 
Proceeding thus, slowly and cautiously, half an 
hour might have elapsed before they left the shelter 
of the forest, and came out upon the open road. 
Here they halted, and Forster’s acute ear shortly 


afterwards detected the presence of a third person, 
to whose humanity he immediately determined to 
appeal. 

“ Oh, sir,” said ho, “ if you are a Christian gen- 
tleman, I pray you to relieve me from these bonds ; 
and if you cannot place me altogether out of dan- 
ger, give me a good weapon and the use of my 
limbs, and I will hew my path homeward in the 
best manner I may.” 

A loud laugh from Gib, and a chuckle from the 
dwarf, were hushed by a sign from the stranger ; 
who said, in a free, manly tone, 

“ You speak, fair young gentleman ; but how do 
I know these worthy men may not have captured 
thee as a traitor at the instance of the Governor 1 
Thou well knowest it would not do for a plain 
yeoman to meddle in such matters, and as there 
are many disaffected persons roving through the 
colony, what warrant have I that thou art not one 
of them I” 

A smile of scorn curled the lip of Forster at the 
evasion of the speaker, whose person he felt certain 
he had detected by his voice. 

“ If you know these men that took me prisoner 
in a most cowardly manner, you cannot be at a loss 
whether I be friend or foe to the Proprietary ; and, 
even if you know not the person with whom you 
appear to hold so free conversation, the garb I 
wear, together with the badge of Leonard Calvert 
so openly displayed upon my arm, would be suffi- 
cient to convince any one upon the point of my 
allegiance, unless he were over skeptical indeed, or 
influenced himself by contrary feelings.” 

‘•Either of which, my dear sir,” replied the 
stranger, calmly, “you may consider me, if you 
will. I have learned ere this, that a man may be 
honest, though slander may call him rogue, cut- 
throat, or what not ; and credulity believe the lie. 
And I have learned, too, that it is not always those 
who profess the most friendship are sincerest in 
the day of trial; nor is he always what he seems 
who wears the livery of another, whether it be the 
silken gaud of his lady love, or the badge of the 
Lord Proprietary, as you are pleased to name him.” 

“ And what would Captain Claiborne term him I” 
asked Forster, stung by the sarcastic close of the 
speaker’s reply. 

“ W ere he here,” said the speaker, “ were he 
here, I dare say he would call Calvert an usurper, 
a base intriguer, and an avaricious grasper of 
another man’s rightful havings. And, perhaps, the 
bold Captain might prophesy the sudden downfall 
of this proud nobleman, and the' restoration of the 
colonists to privileges and immunities at present 
wTongfully withheld from them. I say this is most 
likely what the tenor of Claiborne’s speech would 
be. I do not, however, wish thee to infer that such 
are my opinions; I being, as it were, a mere 
lounger by the wayside of life — a looker on, rather 
than an actor in the mixed pageant that is for ever 
and for ever passing.” c t 

Forster was puzzled. The voice was, he thought, 
that of Claiborne, and the sentiments were such as 
the rebel might be supposed to entertain ; but yet 
the indirect avowal of the speaker that he and 
Claiborne were different individuals, operated 
strongly in leading him to doubt the correctness of 
his first belief. 


CLAIBORxNE THE REBEL. 


55 


“ If, sir,” said he, you are, as you assert, a par- | 
tisan neither of Claiborne or the Governor, the [ 
charity which becomes every one should at least j 
spur you to extend a helping hand to a fellow 
creature in extremity.” 

“ On the contrary, my young friend,” rejoined 
the stranger, “ the very position which it has been 
my pleasure to assume, leads me to do nothing that 
might be considered an infringement of the powers 
of either. Were you like myself — a strict neutral — 
then, indeed, I might assist you ; for therein I could 
do so safely — without falling under the displeasure 
of Captain Claiborne, who is my respected friend, 
or the Governor, whom I hold in — ” 

“In whatl” asked Forster, finding that the j 
stranger paused abruptly. • I 

“In especial remembrance. Will that do, or j 
shall I use a more endearing phrase 1 I have one 
at my tongue’s end that might, perhaps, savor more 
of affection. 

“ Of affectation,” said Forster, drily. 

“ As you will ; word war is but harml^s sport, 
after all; I never quarrel about a misconstruction. 
One may fall from the indiction of a blow, either 
by a weapon or the naked hand ; but paper pellets 
and phrases, the simple coinage of the brain, have 
no power to move me from my equanimity.” 

“ You appear, sir, to have some knowledge of 
the man to whom you were speaking; — will you 
‘ be pleased to inform me why I have thus been 
rudely seized upon the highway, and what are the 
intentions of those toward me by whom he has 
been hired to do this ruffianly and lawless act.” 

“ There again thou art in error. The man to 
me is no more than any other whom I might chance 
to accost upon the highway ; and, in sooth, the see- 
ing of a gentleman bound and blindfolded is not 
as yet of so frequent occurrence as to be a matter 
of little surprise; yet. to quiet thine apprehensions 
on the score of personal safety, I will tell thee what 
I have just heard from him — if so be he first gives 
me permission.” 

“ Aye, say on ; what matters ? Thou art pleasant 
spoken — I like thee. Let the boy hear.” 

Thus answering, Gib leered at the stranger, and 
crossing his legs in a careless manner, leaned back 
against a tree, taking no farther part or interest in 
the conversation. 

“ A worthy man,” said the stranger, looking 
with a composed smile at his long limbed com- 
panion; “a very worthy man. I think, young 
friend, thou art a little mistaken in the character of 
your conqueror, or guide, or guard, or whatever 
you may deem his more befitting title. — But come, 
I will journey a little way with thee, and we will 
talk of these matters as we go along.” 

“ But your horse,” began Forster. 

“ Rest easy on that point., This friendly Goth, 
though I am by no means of a loveable presence, 
seems to have taken a fancy to me, and will doubt- 
less have no objection to walk by your side, while 
I endeavor to persuade his uncouth looking beast 
to permit me to seat myself astride, without danger 
of kick, curvet, or stumble; neither of which, in a 
dense forest, and to a timid horseman, can be 
classed among the most comfortable methods of 
exercising the body.” 

A few moments sufficed to make the arrange- 


ments, and then the little party set forward ; Gib 
walking by the head of Forster’s horse — the stranger 
riding abreast on the other side — while the dwarf 
leaped, skipped, jumped, and ran hither and thither, 
now backward, now forward, in a merry kind of 
aimless disport ; yet were not these erratic move- 
ments altogether so aimless as they seemed; for 
his sharp eyes were piercing every bush, and scan- 
ning every nook, fallen tree, or nestling place, that 
might be supposed to conceal an adversary. 

“Now, young man,” said Forster’s communi- 
cative companion, “ I am happy to be able to inform 
thee that there appears to be no occasion for anxiety 
on your part, further than those present bonds, of 
which thou wilt be shortly freed, coupled with 
perhaps a brief detention when you reach your 
place of destination.” 

“ And that is — ” 

“Claiborne’s camp. — So avers my ungainly in- 
formant, here; who, if his courage but corresponds 
with his length of limb, must be a second ‘ Cour 
de Leon.’ ” 

“ Gibe on, master,” said Gib, with a frown ; “ but 
I tell you the man that wrestles with me must look 
for a fall.” 

“ Oh, I am not going to test your attainments in 
the noble science, my captious Hercules ; brawn 
and muscle do wonders, and thou hast enough of 
both to caution me against provoking their exercise 
upon my own person,” said the stranger. 

“ To Claiborne’s camp !” exclaimed Forster. 
“ What have I done to him, that his vengeance 
should be directed against me any more than any 
other adherent of Leonard Calvert 1” 

“Humph!” replied his companion. “Thou 
speakest as if I were the depository of his secrets. 
Who shall tell the moods of another man’s mind 1 
Perhaps it was because you are an adherent of the 
Governor. Or, perhaps, you may have in some 
other manner offended him.” ' 

“ Ah !” thought Forster, as the occurrence in 
the barber’s shop rushed upon his memory and 
then, though still dubious of his companion’s neu- 
trality, yet not feeling ashamed of what he was 
about to tell, he related his meeting with Claiborne, 
and what had then passed between them — adding, 

“ This, I suppose, is what he intends to requite 
with punishment. Let him ; — I should not shrink 
from doing the same again, were a like occasion to 
offer.” 

“ You wrong him,” said the stranger, earnestly. 
“ Claiborne loves a free spirit, and would be the 
last man in the colony to take revenge for such a 
cause.” 

“ If I may judge from some of his acts,” returned 
Forster, with more daring than prudence, “he is 
not one to be over chary in discriminating between 
justice and lawless outrage ; consideration of con- 
science and moral honesty weighing but lightly in 
the balance when his own interests are concerned.” 

“ Ah, sir,” said the imperturbable stranger; “the 
old adage still maintains its truthfullness — ‘ Give 
a dog a bad name — ’ you know the rest. Educated 
among those to whom his name has been a bane, 
thou hast imbibed opinions the very opposite to his 
deserts. Thou hast been shown the wrong side of 
the tapestry, and naturally found it full of blurs 
and blemishes. Let me reverse the picture. They 


56 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


have told thee of his efforts to overturn the present 
government ; did they speak as openly of his mani- 
fold wrongs 1 They have told thee he was an out- 
law ; did they tell who and what made him so I 
Did they confess to thee that long before they came 
to this land he was in quiet possession of Kent 
Island, and in the free exercise of an indisputable 
jurisdiction over it, under a formal grant — a grant 
made prior to theirs, and which even the king of 
England, in answer to his petition against their 
usurpation, commanded should be respected, and 
Claiborne reinstated as before 1 Did they obey the 
mandate, coming as it did from the same authority 
by whose permission this colony was founded, and 
by whom the grant was made to them I So far 
from acquiescing in his command to whose mis- 
taken kindness they owed every foot of their terri- 
tory, they treated Claiborne with contumely in 
despite of the instructions of their benefactor. He 
was thrust forth — ignominiously branded as a trai- 
tor — a price set upon his head, and held up to the 
scoff of all. — And for what? Because, forsooth, 
seeking to right his own wrongs, he found himself 
the weaker of the twain, and was compelled to flee 
the storm he could not weather.” 

“ Whatever may be Captain Claiborne’s faults,” 
said Forster, “he has found in you at least an in- 
genious advocate.” 

“ Hadst thou said ingenuous, it would have been 
the truer word. Sir, I know him of whom I speak, 
and to say that I think him a worthy, and much 
abused .gentleman, would perhaps savor too much 
of partisanship ; and yet, unless he possessed some 
noble qualities, how comes it that he has banded 
together so many honorable men in his cause, all 
of whom have linked their fortunes to his, and are 
willing to stand or fall with him ?” 

“ The quality of daring alone,” replied Forster, 
“ would gather a number of reckless men under 
any standard ; and the hopes of mending their 
estates would doubtless be a sufficient incitement 
to not a few. Sympathy might league some, and 
religious zeal, unhappily too prevalent at this time, 
would be effectual in securing the services of such 
as see no beauty or purity in any faith save their 
own, and entertain no tolerance for those who dif- 
fer from them.” 

“Yet. out of those discordant materials thou 
givest him the credit of harmonizing a complete 
whole !” 

“ And the salvages.” rejoined F orster. “ Perhaps 
your morality would justify his using them, also.” 

“ Why not ?” said the other. “Should a good 
general, who wishes to throw his troops across a 
river, refuse the service of a bridge because it is 
made of unhewn logs? — Or if thou wast in a strait, 
wouldst reject the old-fashioned matchlock, if the 
better appointed harquebuss could not be had ? — 
Thou seest these are questions that bear their own 
answers.” 

“ I wish I cotdd see,” said Forster, with a humor- 
ous melancholy that made his companion burst out 
a laughing. 

“ Ah, well ; if I could remove the darkness of 
thy mind as easily as light can be restored to thine 
eyes, it would be a thing of little difficulty in the 
achievement.” 

“ It is something new to meet with a person in 


these wild forests, who takes such an interest in 
strangers as you appear to take in me,” said 
Forster. 

“ Thou art not so much a stranger as thou sup- 
posest. I knew thy father, old Stephen Forster, 
well. In many a stricken battle, when we were in 
the low countries together, have we fought side by 
side. He was every inch a soldier, and was ever 
in the thickest of the fray ; and I, though it be- 
comes not me to say it, was seldom far behind him. 
For in those days we held life but at a pin's fee, 
and would jeopard it on a slighter cause than I 
would like to do, now that time has sobered down 
its exuberance; — though it is now as naught com- 
pared to what it was then. Is it not strange, that 
in youth we should so freely hazard life, while in 
age, when it has become of little worth, we are 
cautious of it almost to cowardice — risking it when 
most precious, and cherishing it tenderly when its 
value hath departed ? — But as I was saying, I 
knew thy father when he was a sturdy veteran, 
and I a graceless ne’er-do-well, with but little be- 
sides redkless valour to recommend me to his espe- 
cial regard ; and it is for his sake that I seek to 
serve his son — and I would do so, by first endeavor- 
ing to remove his prejudices.” 

“ If, sir, you mean by prejudices the opinions I 
entertain concerning Captain Claiborne, you must 
be well aware they are such as my father held be- 
fore me.” 

“ True ; but he was stricken in years, and being 
under some obligations to the family of the Cal- 
verts, was slow to receive any impression that 
would change his belief in their goodness. He 
bad set them up in his old age as idols, and he 
would not see shattered to pieces the things he had 
worshiped.” 

“And me you think — ’’began Forster, but he 
was interrupted by his companion. 

“ That youth is more open to conviction — sharper 
and of subtler wit — can draw conclusions quicker, 
and shames not to act upon them, even though it 
be to the casting off those whom they supposed to 
beffriends, but whom they found to be undermining 
their dearest interests. Grey heads, my friend, are 
mostly hard heads, and stubborn in adopting even 
admitted truths. They think their own old- 
fashioned light the best, and will accept none other, 
though manifestly a brighter and a safer guide to 
their erring footsteps.” 

“ If I can only walk the same path in which my 
father moved,” said Forster, glowing with filial love, 
“ I shall be well content never to exchange it for 
another, though it seem to offer more beautiful 
scenes than are to be found in the old trodden 
way. 

“ Why, this is the very bigotry by which ancient 
error is upheld ! — If all had accepted of nothing as 
good or proper but what their ancestors knew be- 
fore them, the world had still been a wilderness, 
and we no better than painted salvages. I tell you, 
sir, that this reverence for antique rottenness is the 
greatest stumbling-block that men of enlarged minds 
have to battle w'ith. Men, who having overleaped 
the age in which they live, and disenthralled them- 
selves, seek to liberate their common brethren ; but 
find them wedded to their chains, because they 
clanked upon the limbs of their forefathers.” 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


57 


“ You forget,” said Forster, “ that no one admits 
a strange truth, unless he has faith in the narrator. 
It is to this cause, more than any other, that we re- 
ject discoveries which afterward prove of real bene- 
fit ; and the selfish doubt of one man’s capacity 
over another, may, perhaps, as often lead us astray. 
You, for instance, notwithstanding your professed 
indifference, seek to influence me in favor of Cap- 
tain Claiborne ; but what credence can I give to 
your statement of his wrongs, when I know not 
even to whom I speak.” 

“ Ha! are you there, old Truepenny, as sweet 
W:ll Shakespeare somewhere says — suppose I were 
in the first place to ask of thee how Truth the 
Immaculate, can possibly need the adventitious aid 
of any name, however lofty 1 Truth is isolated, 
and transparent; and while a Sidney could not add 
to its purity, a Machiavel could not blur it. As to 
who I am it matters but little, if what I have said 
to thee is sooth ; and I dare the Calverts to deny 
it. But yet, to allay thy curiosity, or perhaps to 
provoke it still farther, I will tell thee that in merry 
England — merry, alas ! no longer — men called me 
Will of Oakenden, or Master of Oakenden, and 
sometimes briefly Oakenden ; either of which must 
suffice thee for the present. By what name I am 
now known, thou wilt learn shortly. Meantime, 
believe me in all sincerity thy friend.” 

“ The proof should be in acts, not words,” said 
Forster. “ Take the bandage from mine eyes — the 
cords from my arms — give me a trusty weapon, and 
I will soon rid myself of this ruffian, and the mal- 
formed imp whose treachery betrayed me.” 

“ Hear him 1” cried Gib, with one of his rode 
horse-laughs ; and then, to show his contempt of 
the threat, he imitated with singular accuracy the 
shrill defiance of a barn-yard fowl, to the no small 
amusement or the stranger ; while Forster, redden- 
ing with anger, bent forward in an impotent attempt 
to strike his tormentor to the earth. 

“ Ha !” exclaimed Gib, springing off one side, as 
if anticipating a blow. “Come — come; none o’ 
that. I can play sledge-hammer too.” 

“Indeed thou canst,” said Oakenden. “And 
wo betide him on whom that fleshy hammer of 
thine falls. I would ratlier take a kick from thine 
horse, than a buffet from thee.” 

“ Well, I do hit hard,” said Gib, much softened 
by the praise of his companion. But Forster broke 
out with — 

“ Why, thou waylayer ! — thou villain ! — thou — ” 

“ Bah ! — bah I” said Gib. “ Hard words, master, 
break no bones-” 

Forster made no reply, for he began to perceive 
how ridiculous it was in him to bandy words 
with one who held him so completely in his power. 
From thenceforth for some time he preserved a 
sullen silence, notwithstanding the efforts of the 
stranger to induce him to enter into conversation. 
At length, wearied out by his companion’s impor- 
tunities, he said, 

“No more. Master of Oakenden ; I plainly per- 
ceive you are no friend.” 

“See , now,” rejoined the other ; “ how easily a 
man’s actions may be misconstrued. Had I re- 
leased thee, and thou hadst even cleared thy Cap- 
tors — a doubtful chance, at best — thou couldst not 
have escaped the salvages, who are prowling these 


r 

woods like wild beasts ravening for prey. And the 
garb thou wearest, and the badge thou displayest, 
would have marked thee a victim fer the cruelest 
torture ; unless, indeed, Claiborne heard of it in 
time to rescue thee.” 

“ How comes it, then,” asked Forster, incredu- 
lously, “ that we, who are so much larger a party, 
have eluded their observation.” 

“ We have not,” said his companion, calmly. 
“Thrice have I seen a pair of dark eyes gleaming 
through the bushes, and once an arrow already in 
the string ; but recognising in us friends, and see- 
ing thee already a prisoner, they suffered us to pass 
unmolested.” 

“ Master of Oakenden,” said Forster, “I may not 
doubt your word, yet how can I believe one who 
first approaches with an unasked declaration that 
he took no part in the concerns of the Governor, 
or of Claiborne, and then suddenly bears round 
and displays himself an open partisan of the latter I 
Would not frankness have better served your 
turn ]” 

“ Had I come to you,” rejoined his companion? 
“ and said, ‘ Master Forster, I am in the service of 
Captain Claiborne, and would talk with thee con- 
cerning him,’ should I not have met a deaf ear and 
a mute tongue 1 Yet now that our journey is near 
ended, and I undeceive thee, wherein canst thou 
complain of wrong? The lips never breathed that 
spoke more truly than mine, when I said I was thy 
father’s friend, and would fain be a friend to thee 
also. Hear me prove it. A word from me could 
more than once have sent a shaft to thy heart, and 
yet it is not sped. Had I loosed thee when you 
prayed me so to do, you might have deemed me hu- 
mane and kind; but should I not have felt how 
blindly you had misjudged me, and deceived your- 
self? Would not my conscience have smote me 
for giving thee up to destruction, while seemingly 
bestowing life and liberty ? Ah ! Master Forster, 
there are many men whose acts are called harsh 
and tyrannical, when, if their acts could be seen 
aright, they would be found filled to overflowing 
with human love.” 

“If I have wronged you,” said Forster, “ there is 
nothing becoming an honest man that I will not do 
to atone the fault.” 

“ Say no more,” replied his companion ; “ all I 
ask is, that you do not judge me too harshly.” 

A shrill exclamation from the lips of the dwarf 
arrested further conversation. The little party, 
leaving the forest behind them, now entered a long, 
narrow valley, or, more properly speaking, meadow, 
it being entirely denuded of trees, and running, 
apparently, for several miles in the same thin strip, 
protected on either side throughout its whole extent 
by bold hills, clothed to their very snmmits with 
lofty timber, A small stream of water gurgled 
slowly along the foot of the range of hills to the 
left ; the whole of the intervening space being 
covered with rank herbage, of the deepest verdure. 
From the direction of the valley, and the alluvial 
nature of the soil, it had probably, at one time, been 
an arm of the mighty Potomac ; though at what 
distant day its waters flowed thus far into the heart 
of the forest, the traditions of the Indians, who still 
loved and frequented its beautiful seclusion, did not 


58 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


tell, except, that since then many generations had 
passed away. 

The cry of the dwarf that had called the attention 
of Oakenden and his companions, was occasioned | 
by the number of horses grazing at large throughout 
this luxuriant pasturage; and from their docile dis- 
position evidently belonging to a considerable body 
of men encamped somewhere near by, though no 
further token of their presence could as yet be seen. 
Presently, however, as they progressed, they heard 
the sharp barking of dogs, and then several armed 
individuals were seen at different points, subjecting 
the little party to the severest scrutiny ; and when 
they retired to their covert, a large mastiff came 
bounding up the valley, exhibiting the utmost 
manifest delight at the presence of Oakenden, by 
gamboling about him, and springing up as if he 
would pull him from his horse ; an exhibition of 
joy, the exuberance of which, becoming, at length, 
rather irksome to that gentleman, was only re- 
strained by lifting his riding whip, and calling out, 
somewhat harshly — 

“ Down, Leon, down !” Thus checked, the dog 
adopted the sober gait of the horseman, walking 
demurely alongside, yet now and then venturing to 
look up into the face of Oakenden, as if waiting 
only for permission from him to resume his pranks [ 
as before. 

Turning now to the right, they passed up a ! 
rugged gorge cut through the hill-side, the track of j 
which was rendered difficult of travel, by the quan- | 
tity of rugged rocks and stones with which it was i 
interspersed. After following its windings for some j 
time, the clamor of voices could be heard ; and then i 
blue smoke was seen wreathing itself among the 
green foliage of the trees. Diverging from this road, 
they entered an Indian path, so confined, that they 
were compelled to follow each other in single file, 
until, as the voices became more distinct, they 
gradually caught sight of rude cabins, huts, and 
wigwams, promiscuously scattered about a circular 
area--a clearing covering an acre or more of ground — ' 
and when they reached the skirts of the rude camp, 
the clamor occasioned by the shouts, gratulations, 
and welcomings of its numerous white denizens, 
joined to the deep gutterals of the Indians, and the 
yelping, howling, and barking of dogs of all ages 
and descriptions, was almost deafening. 

Notwithstanding the uncertainty of his position, 
Forster experienced a sensation of relief when freed 
from his thongs. After the bandage was removed 
from his eyes, it was several minutes before he could 
distinguish the objects around. First there came a 
vision of swarthy faces, and then he looked about 
for the person of his late companion. There he 
stood at the door-way of a house of a description 
superior to the rest, with one hand folding that of 
a glorious maiden, who was gazing fondly in his 
face, while his own eyes were fixed upon Forster’s. 
It was Claiborne himself. 

“ Come, Master Forster,” said he, advancing with 
a smile, “ thou must partake of our hospitality. — 
Rough as it is, we of the green wood bestow it with 
a hearty good will that gives it a better savor than 
even delicacies have when niggardly offered. I need 
not ask,” he added, bending his bushy eyebrows, 
and speaking in a lower tone, “I need not ask thee 
for thy promise not to attempt means of escape — 


nor of seeking to convey intelligence of any kind 
whatsoever to St. Mary’s — am I right”!” 

Forster was irresolute for a moment ; but know- 
ing how absolutely he was in Claiborne’s power, he 
thought it would be best to give the required parole, 
and so his pledge was given. 

“That is well,” said Claiborne; “thou art a 
soldier, and I trust a soldier’s word. Let us to the 
house.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 

Claiborxe’s motives for interesting himself so 
much concerning young Forster, may be gathered 
from a conversation which he afterwards had with 
Ingle, as we shall henceforth call him. 

That worthy, having successfully baffled his pur- 
suers, arrived at the camp with his companions 
about noon on the following day ; and it was toward 
the close of the evening as they were seated to- 
gether, that Ingle related, in high glee, the manner 
in which he had outwitted the elder Cornwallis; 
and then Claiborne, falling in with the humor of 
his associate, began to discuss the events that had 
transpired since their parting on the night of the 
alarm at St. Mary’s. 

After detailing much that is already known to 
the reader, he spoke of the capture of Forster, and 
what passed between them on the journey ; and it 
was in answer to Ingle’s expression of surprise that 
he should have taken so much trouble to gain over 
so humble an individual as the messenger of the 
Governor, that he said — 

“ I marvel not thou shouldst think it an undue 
painstaking; yet am I not altogether without hope 
that it may prove of ultimate benefit to the cause. 
I seldom sow my seed,” continued he, smilingly, 
“ without, at least, the expectation of a returning 
harvest. That the youth is mettlesome, thou thyself 
hast testified. But it was not on this account alone 
I sought to win him to us. He hath numerous co- 
mates among those of his own age in St. Mary’s, 
with whom he is a sort o^chief, and many of them, 
being, as it were, thoughtless and hairbrained, 
would league themselves to serve on any adven- 
ture in which he was concerned ; and others there 
are who, though they might not follow, would 
not fight against him. So that, either way, if I 
succeed in arraying him on our side, I paralize a 
most efficient part of Calvert’s power ; for it is upon 
the youth of the city he mainly depends. Another 
reason I had for seeking this lad, smacks less of 
selfishness. Old Stephen Forster and myself were 
soldiers together in more than one hard fought bat- 
tle, and longing to see if the son could wield as 
stout a hand as his father, I, of course, rather pre- 
ferred it should be wielded for me than against. — 
Now, my friend, what sayest thoul” 

“ That a landsman’s craft surpasseth the wit of a 
simple mariner like me. I like not crooked and 
doubtful sailing, and would sooner go straight for- 
ward into the thick of a desperate struggle, than to 
veer and tack about to avoid i(. Peradventures are, 
to rny mind, but poor anchor-holds in a storm. Be- 
sides, I hate this boy.” 

“ Aye, there it is,” said Claiborne, composedly. 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


59 


“ I verily believe that for this woman — this new 
Delilah — thou wouldst forego thine enmity to the 
Governor.” 

The outlaw, who was no stranger to the intense 
hatred his associate bore Leonard Calvert, evinced 
but little emotion when Blundell, with a deep red 
flush suftusing his swarthy brow, started up, and 
fiercely smiting the table with his clenched hand, 
exclaimed — 

“ Was every hair of that man’s head a thousand 
gold pieces, and all were offered me to abate one 
tittle of my revenge — if he was at my feet, and I 
could have, for one hour of grace, the richest galleon 
that ever floated the Spanish main, I would not 
give it. He slew my brother, the only being that 
ever loved me for my own sake. I have sworn by 
the deep sea to requite blood for blood, and I will 
keep my oath.” 

“ Be seated, my dear friend,” said Claiborne, with 
a pleasant expression of countenance, “ Do I bear 
more affection towards Calvert than thyself! Have 
I basked in the sunshine of his favor, or grown 
. plethoric on his dainty viands'? If it be so, v^hy 
have I toiled day and night for years to compass his 
overthrow 1 When he was a Titan and I a poor 
pigmy, I was sapping the foundation beneath his 
feet, because I could not measure my strength with 
his ; and now, that I can wrestle with him, stature 
to stature, I still seek to render his footing as inse- 
cure as possible, that I may hold the vantage ground 
in the coming contest; and to this end I yesterday 
succeeded in throwing a spy into his councils.” 

“ Aye,” said the Seaman, with a greater show of 
interest; “who is he'!” 

“ A malcontent member, but ripe for rebellion. 
One who can command a score of knaves at an 
hour’s warning.” 

“ This promises well,” said Ingle, “ if he but 
keep good faith.” 

“ He dare not do otherwise,” returned Claiborne ; 
“ I hold his son as a hostage. But wouldst thou 
believe it, he stipulated as the price of his joining 
that his lout of a boy should wed my daughter!” 

“ And you — ” 

“ Oh, I promised, of course,” said Claiborne, with 
a meaning smile that seemed perfectly understood 
by his associate. 

“ What has become of the pale youth I left 
here !” said Ingle, with his usual abruptness. 

“Ah, poor fellow !” said Claiborne; “I fear me 
he will never be in better health than he now is ; 
though Helen — ” and the name of his daughter 
lingered upon his tongue, as if he loved its very 
sound — “ who hath taken upon herself to be his 
nurse, thinks that if he could be removed to his 
own home, he might possibly recover.” 

“Belay that,” said the Seaman, quickly ; it is a 
thing not to be thought of. He must be kept here 
a close prisoner. None of your St. Mary’s men 
must see him ; and, above all, this young Cornwal- 
lis who came with me to-day must not even know 
that he is in existence, or you and I lose our hold 
of him at once.” 

“ Indeed !” said Claiborne. “ Why, what has he 
to do with this matter ! I know they are of the 
same name ; but I understood thee to say, that this 
sickly youth came with thee from the Summers 
Isles.” 


“ And so he did.” 

“ Then wherefore this cautiousness as regards his 
being seen by young Cornwallis!” 

“ Because he is his brother,” said the Seaman, 
bluntly. 

“Why didst thou not tell me of this before!” 
asked Claiborne, in surprise. 

“ Because it was a long story, and I supposed 
you too full of other things to spare the time to 
listen. But if you will have it, pass me the flagon, 
and I will make it as brief as I can.” 

Claiborne having complied with the Seaman’s re- 
quest, the latter took a long draught, and then said, 

“ You remember, I dare say, that in the autumn 
of last year, my brigantine was lying for several 
weeks off the harbor of New Providence* — not 
where you saw her a few days since in a sheltered 
nook of the bay beyond, but close in shore; for I 
was only known then as a peaceful trader. Well, 
having disposed of such merchandise as the psalm- 
singing crop-ears most affected, — and between us 
they took the daintiest I had — while I was on shore 
bidding them farewell, who should arrive in a small 
sail-boat but Captain Cornwallis, and his two sons, 
Arthur and Eustace ; the younger being ill of some 
disease, for which the sapient physicians of St. 
Mary’s had recommended a voyage to a warmer 
climate. Weil, he bargained with me to take the 
sick youth, with his brother Arthur as a companion, 
to the Beimudas, whither I said I was bound, from 
whence they might either take a chance vessel back 
to Virginia, or return with me, as the elder brother 
should think best. As it happened, there was no 
ship expected there for some time; so at last I con- 
cluded to bring them home, as the younger was 
still weakly, and but little benefitted by the change. 
Scarcely had we got beyond sound of the surf, be- 
fore a quarrel arose between my mate, Daunton, and 
Arthur Cornwallis, which rose to such a pitch, that 
the young springald, mad with passion, seized a 
billet of wood that lay on the deck beside him, and 
hurled it at the other with all his might. Daunton 
evaded the blow, but it took effect on the sickly 
brother, who, staggered backwards with a shrill cry 
of agony, fell overboard. Instantly Cornw'allis 
plunged into the sea after him. I was below, but 
on coming up, the sails were backed, and a boat 
speedily lowered. We saved the younger one easily, 
— the other, who was an indifferent swimmer at the 
best, we succeeded at length in picking up, though 
not before he had twice sunk. When he reached 
the deck, he was, to all appearance, lifeless. The 
first question he asked on coming to himself was, 

‘ Where was his brother!’ and I told him he was 
drowned.” 

“ Why didst thou do this!” asked Claiborne. 

“ Oh content you, I had my reasons for it. I 
thought if I could impress him with the belief he 
had been the cause of the boy’s death, that the fear 
of my revealing it to his friends, would bind him to 
my service for ever. Perhaps I meditated a descent 
at some time or other upon St. Mary’s, and looked 
to his aid in the business,” 

“ Or, perhaps, upon its Governor,” said Claiborne. 

“You are right — that was my thought — was — is 
— and shall be, till he or I perish,” said the Seaman, 
bitterly. 


* Now called Annapolis. 


60 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


“ And the father 1” 

“I wrote him a letter, at the request of j^oung 
Cornwallis, to the effect that Eustace died on the 
passage home ; which the simple fool delivered, and 
so stamped himself a partner in the lie.” 

“Now,” said Claiborne, “I perceive the policy 
of keeping the presence of the sick youth a secret ; 
rest assured he shall be well cared for.” 

“ Do as you Will,” said Ingle ; “ it is much 
your interest as mine ; so I leave him on your 
hands.” 

“Have thou no fear about him,” returned Clai- 
borne. “ And now, what tidings dost thou bring 
from our puritanical friends of St. Marys'?” 

“ Oh,” said the Seaman, bursting out a laughing, 

“ if I did not love the free air of the salt sea better 
than the breezes from the land, I would exchange 
the deck of mine own good ship for the boards of a 
theatre — turn poor player, and mouth fustian with 
the best of the tribe — or else, instead of the wig I 
latterly wore, trim my own hair to a formal cut, and 
become a leader among the Latter-day Saints.” 

“ Where the cry would soon be that a wolf had 
stolen into the fold, and if thy bones were not broken 
it would be by reason of the nimbleness of your 
heels. A prank of this kind may serve for a day 
or two, as it hath done in this instance ; but hadst 
thou remained much longer, thy speech would have 
betrayed thee.” 

“ Not it,” replied Ingle, “ Why, man, it is as easy 
as kissing — with a grave face, a severe carriage, a 
few set phrases, a Geneva band, short cloak, and 
steeple-crowned hat, you may grasp hands in 
brotherhood, and they none the wiser. To make 
the matter surer, call yourself Ephraim Sraooth-the- 
way, or some such outlandish name, and you shall 
take, unquestioned, the highest seat in conventicle. 

I tell you, Claiborne, they are two-thirds knave, and 
one-third enthusiast; and if you will but christen 
them Honesty, and humor their fanaticism, you 
shall lead them, like sheep, whithersoever you 
please.” 

“ Fie now,” said Claiborne, with a reproving 
shake of bis finger, “ not like sheep. Remember 
they are of the church militant.” 

“ So much the better for you,” said the other ; 
“ for they have commissioned two of the straightest 
of the sect to wait upon you to-morrow.” 

“ That is well,” said Claiborne, in high spirits ; 
“ for deputies from New Providence will likewise 
be here, together with certain of the Presbyterians.” 

“Take care, brother, you are playing with flint 
and steel.” 

“ Oh, I shall not bring them into collision,” re- 
turned Claiborne, with a satisfied smile. “ What 
are the names of the two whom the Puritans send 
hither on the morrow ?” 

“I think one styles himself Grace-be-fall Cripps, 
and the other a Master Hutly; why do you ask”?” 

“ Rugly must to the city this night, for they will 
need a guide.” 

“ And a trusty guide he would be,” said Blundell, 
ironically. “ Mark me, Claiborne, there is no good 
faith to be put in that man. I have watched him, 
and had him watched; and I say that if not already 
treacherous, he will be, if an opportunity is given 
him.” 

“Thou art deceived,” said Claiborne; “I have 


ever found him one of my stauncest partisans. — 
What ! Hal Rugly ! — one of my first followers — 
oh, believe me. thou hast mistaken him ” 

“ Hear me before you commit yourself,” said In- 
gle. “ He who has been compelled, like me, to 
rely for safety upon the good faith of other men, , 
soon become a studier of faces — noting the expres- 
sion of the eye, the curl of the lip, and the sound of 
voice, when spoken to. And if all those signs do 
not fail me, which have hertofore stood me in good 
stead, Rugly is already a traitor at heart. Now send 
him if you will, not on this errand, but on one of 
lighter moment, and see if he return to you. For 
my part 1 have had enough of him.” 

“ Thou hast treated him too roughly, Ingle, I 
suspect, A man may be led when he will not be 
forced. I think him honest ; nevertheless I will 
take thy advice in part — he shall to St. Mary’s, if 
it be only to try him, and I will find another guide 
in the place of him.” 

The voice of the sentinel parleying with some 
person, here interrupted the conference. i 

“ It is Meetoquah, the Werowance,” said Clai- 
borne, opening the door. “ Admit him.” i 

Presently a tall, elderly Indian, with a bearing [ 
eminently stately and erect, strode into the apart- 
ment. Immediately he entered, his eye fell upon 
the wine flagon, which, without speaking a word^ 
he seized with both hands, and drained to the lees. | 

“ Wine much good,” said he, in broken English. | 
» More.” 

Claiborne turned a look of entreaty toward Ingle, _ 
who sat, staring with astonishment at the feat, and 
as he produced a second well-filled vessel, motioned 
the Seaman to keep silence.” 

“ Ugh, very much good,” said-the Indian, smack- 
ing his lips, with infinite gusto ; “ make heart 
warm.” 

“ Aye it ought, redskin,” broke in Ingle, in de- , 
fiance of Claiborne’s previous caution. “ I say it 
ought, seeing as how you take it in fish fashion, f 
without stint.” ^ 

“ Meetoquah is welcome,” said Claiborne, speak- 
ing in the dialect of the Patowomeks. “ Does he 
come to have a talk with his brother?” 

“ Listen,” replied Meetoquah, “ the' White Chief 
is very wise, and he will open his ears to the talk 
of the Werowance. Brother, my young men have 
waited seven suns in their wigwams for the White 
Chief, for he said to them be ready, and when I 
come I will lead you on the war path. Brother, 
they want to go ; they have danced the war dance, 
and have put on the war paint. Brother, they say 
that the White Chief sleeps, and Meetoquah must 
waken him. They will go to-morrow.” 

“I thought Meetoquah was a great Werowance, 
and that his young men would do his bidding,” 
said Claiborne sarcastically. 

“ I'he forest tree bends to the tempest, and the 
Werowance is moved by the breath of his people.” 

“ The people of the White Chief obey his orders. 
They stand still when he tells them, and go when 
he commands,” said Claiborne. “My brother 
should teach his braves to do likewise.” 

“ The Patowomeks are warriors, not women,” 
returned the Werowance in deep scorn, of what he 
considered a want of manliness on the part of Clai- 
borne’s adherents. “ You have told us that the 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


61 


men at the big town are Spaniards, and we have 
i come to help you fi^ht them. The Spaniards are 
f wolves — we hate them. If my brother will fight 
^ let him get his fire-weapon. If his heart is afraid 
1 we will depart without him. Speak — what shall 
Meetoquah tell his young men 
i “ They are pressing me to begin the war,” said 
) Claiborne turning to the Seaman, who was listening 
^ impatiently, without being able to comprehend a 
word of what had been spoken. “ I must tempo- 
rize with them for a few days longer. When will 
. your sea dogs be here 

“ Why you may look for as many as can be 
spared, to-morrow, or the day after.” 

“ Ha ! so soon !” said Claiborne ; “ then we 
shall not lie idle much longer.” 

“What says the White Chief — will he gol” 
asked the Indian with an abrupt gesture, indicative 
of his wish to obtain a speedy answer, 
p, “He will,” replied Claiborne — “but not yet. 

The Spaniards are cunning, Meetoquah ; we must 
^ steal upon them unawares. Thy young men must 
^ wait until the runners of the White Chief come 
f back, for they will bring with them more warriors.” 

■ The fumes of the wine Meetoquah had so un- 
ceremoniously drank were now gradually bringing 
' out the natural fierceness of his character, 
f He did not reply for some minutes to Claiborne, 

^ but took rapid and irregular strides backwards and 
forwards the small apartment, with the fingers of 
his right hand clutching nervously his tomahawk. 
At length he stepped suddenly, and confronting 
^ Claiborne said, 

' “ The While Chief called to Meetoquah, and he 

I is here. Meetoquah is a great Werowance; the 

i ! Youacomico’s have seen him in their wigwams; 

\ and the Acconacks run like deer when they hear 
, the war-whoop of the chief of the Patowomecks.” 
i. And now, as the wine began to take its full effect, 
i his self-laudations increased, and his actions be- 
■ came more vehement and threatening; insomuch 
> that, at one moment, when his tomahawk was 

i whirled too near the head of Ingle, and that person- 
age neither understanding the chiefs language or 
intentions, or rather construing both into a mean- 
ing hostile to his present safety, drew out his dag- 
^ ger, and would have stabbed him on the instant, 
had not Claiborne hastily interposed his arm. 

“ What does he mean by flourishing his weapon 
J in my face 1 I tell you. Master Claiborne, I will 
i take an affront of this kind from no man ! By the 
! deep sea, an’ he does the like again, I will strike 
him to the earth !” 

I “ Peace, my touchy comate,” said Claiborne per- 
suasively ; “ he meditates no harm to either of us ; 
^ he is only relating his exploits.” 

“ Let him do it, then, in a Christian manner,” 
' said the Seaman surlily, “ and not in this rantipate 
I fashion. I am too old to be played pranks with by 
; a drunken savage !” 

' Presently, however, the paroyxism subsided ; the 
fire of his dark eyes was succeeded by the dull, 
■ leaden gaze of stupor; his muscles relaxed; and, 
exhausted by his efforts, the Werowance staggered, 
! reeled back, and fell heavily on the floor. 

' “ Pah ! the beast !” said Claiborne, looking 

his prostrate ally with an expression of disgus 


“ Come, Ingle, we will leave him, and seek out our 
doubtful friend Rugly.” 

He lingered a moment to trace a few lines, and 
then having carefully sealed the missive said, 

“ Now, Ingle, we shall see if thy doubts touch- 
ing this young man are correct. If he betrays us, 
what I have herein written will but mislead those 
to whom he would be inclined to send it, unless, 
indeed, he seeks an interview with the Governor in 
person, which I incline to think he would not dare 
do ; and if he does, I shall soon hear of it.” 

“ What then 1” asked thee Saman. 

“ Why, then,” returned Claiborne, “ in that case 
he shall be well cared for.” 

Leaving the leaders to seek out the Partisan and 
despatch a messenger to St. Mary’s, as a guide to 
the Puritarf deputies, we now fling open to the 
reader another apartment of the same dwelling, and 
oh ! how different is the picture ! 

Rude and rugged as is the room, every thing 
within it gives evidence of woman’s taste and tact; 
and though of course, from the temporary nature of 
the erection, but little could be done in the way of 
embellishment, yet still there was an air of com- 
fort and neatness pervading it which showed that 
as much as could be done to render it decently 
habitable, had been by skillful hands achieved. 

The rough logs were screened from observation 
by thick, old-fashioned arras. There was but one 
small window, and that was formed of diminutive 
panes of glass cut diamond wise, and inserted in a 
thin leaden lattice-work, surrounded by a narrow 
iron frame, the whole being suspended on hinges, 
so as to allow of its being opened and shut after 
the manner of a door. About the room were a few 
high-backed oaken chairs ; a small but curiously 
carved clothespress, of black walnut, occupied one 
corner, and against the wall was a pair of hanging 
shelves, containing books. 

Near this library, and opposite to the win- 
dow, was a low couch, and it is to the occu- 
pant of that couch, and those who sat by his side, 
that we now more particularly refer. 

The first was a young man of about two or three 
and twenty years of age, whose dark raven hair 
and brilliant black eyes were in painful contrast 
with the transparent whiteness of his wasted fea- 
tures — a whiteness, relieved from ghastliness, by 
that saddest sight of all, the hectic flush, which so 
surely foretells the death of the unconscious sufferer 
it so strangely beautifies. 

Near Eustace Cornwallis — for it was he — with 
her large tearful eyes bent earnestly upon his, sat 
Helen Claiborne ; and by her side stood Dame 
Clare, holding in her hand a cup, the contents of 
which had just been administered to the invalid. 

“ I think thou art better to-day,” said the mai- 
den ; in whom the illusive nature of the disease 
had tended to raise hopes for the eventual recovery 
of her patient — hopes which are too often given, 
alas ! only to crush the more fearfully with the 
morrow’s sun. 

“Better ! be sure he is !” chimed in the garru- 
lous old nurse. “ ’Las a’ me, I ha’ seen many a 
one weaklier than he that grew hale and strong 
afterwards. Why, there was Master Simmons, the 
whitesmith — his shop was in East Cheap, two 
• doors below Master Glover’s — his good wife was 


62 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


mine especial gossip ; her maiden name was Wing- 
field, one of the Wingfields of Cripplegate. Weil, 
on a time, as I remember, Master Simmons fell ill, 
and soon wasted away to a mere atomy ; but after 
a while he got well, and lived to be an Alderman. 
I saw him, myself, in the Lord Mayor’s procession, 
as it was passing Saint Paul’s Cross, and he was 
the portliest of them all.” 

A faint and melancholy smile stole over the pale 
features of the invalid as he said, with a low and 
difficult utterance, 

“ Do not deceive yourself, my kind and gentle 
nurse, for there is that within me which tells me 
I shall never again go forth into the green and 
beautiful world with health upon my cheek, and 
laughter on my lip, like the care-defying stripling I 
once was ; and yet,” he added, as he clasped his 
thin shrunken hands together, “it is so hard to 
die.” 

“ Ah ! speak not thus !” said Helen eagerly, 

■ “ for I have been told, that what the mind forebodes 
affects the body’s health, and oft-times makes that 
come to pass which cheerfulness might have sub- 
dued ; and though,” she added meekly, “ I am all 
unskilled in the knowledge which might explain 
the reason of this thing, yet I can readily believe 
that such may be the truth.” 

The young man shook his head despondingly. 
“ I have clung to hope, dear Helen,” said he, “ as 
the lone leaf clings to the sapless bough ; and like 
that leaf, I have felt the springs of life gradually re- 
cede from me, until I know not how soon I may be 
swept away.” 

Helen turned aside to hide her tears, and then 
forcing herself to assume a gaiety — oh ! how much 
at variance with her true feelings — she approached 
a small vase of flowers and brought them to the 
side of the couch. 

“ See !” said she — “ here are some dainty wild 
flowers I plucked for thee while thou was’t sleeping. 
I would have gathered more, but I was afraid to 
wander far.” 

“ Indeed, it is a pretty posie,” said Dame Marga- 
ret admiringly ; “ and she would not let me go 
with her, saying, that perhaps you might wake, and 
that it was needful some one should remain and be 
near you until she shoukl come back to wait on 
you herself,” 

The invalid took' the proffered flowers from the 
maiden’s hand, and as he did so, his dark eyes 
beamed upon her with a look of such speechless 
tenderness, that the eloquent blood mantled her 
cheek and brows, and she was fain to turn away, 
lest he should perceive the emotion which that look 
had caused — an emotion which, though thrilling, 
was exquisite to a degree she had never before felt, 
and yet so mingled with doubts and hopes, and 
heart-chilling fears, that she scarcely knew, in that 
wildering moment, whether pain or pleasure pre- 
dominated most. 

“ How shall I ever be able to repay your kind- 
ness !” said he after a pause. “ Cut off from all 
hopes of home, and taken, I know not whither, 
thanks are the only guerdon a poor, weak stranger 
can bestow ; yet, if there ever does come a time — 
alas !” he added mournfully, “ why should I say it, 
when I feel that I am withering as surely as these 
frail children of the dew and the sunshine, that are 


already drooping with the heat of my parched 
hand. Place them in the vase again, my kind 
nurse, for 1 would not see them fade, although I 
know that such must be their doom, as it is mine.” 

“ He who wounds can heal,” replied Helen with 
meek reverence ; “ and oh, surely complaint is 
sinful — sickness, or adversity, seldom comes save 
for some wise purpose, unrevealed at the time, 
though afterwards the reason may be made plain 
unto us. Perhaps it hath been a monitor to our 
over-mastering pride of heart — or perhaps it may 
be in some wise a forward or a thoughtless spirit. 
Prosperity brings with it an excess of light that 
blinds us to our failings, and it is only in the hours 
that follow tribulation — in the privacy of our own 
chamber, and in the solitude of our own heart — that 
we can see clearly what we are, and what we 
should be.” 

“ So young, and yet so wise,” said the invalid. 

“ Oh, sir !” said the maiden, “ age is not to be 
meted by years — there be those on whom the world 
weighing lightly are youthful at three-score; and 
others, through care sitting constantly on their 
hearthstone, whose hearts are old before they can 
count twenty summers.” 

“ Such, surely, is not your case, fair moralist,” 
said Eustace Cornwallis ; and as he looked at the 
maiden, on whose features sat an expression of 
mingled gravity and sorrow, he added — “ Now God 
forbid that experience should have taught you 
this.” 

“ There is no one,” said Helen evasively, “ who 
hath not, at some period of life, wrestled with afflic- 
tion ; and even those esteemed the happiest, may 
be nigh unto fainting beneath a burthen of grief 
the presence of which is not even suspected by 
others. Deep-seated sorrow is seldom vented in 
words, but slowly and silently wears away life ; — 
that which is turbulent is seldom lasting. But 
why,” she continued, rousing herself from her 
thoughtful attitude, and speaking with more anima- 
tion, “ why should we repine — clouds may cover 
us with the blackness of a pall, but there is sun- 
shine beyond ; let us look to that, for as surely as 
obscurity is, so surely shall brightness come again.” 

“ Not for me,” replied the invalid gloomily ; and 
he sank back upon the pillow, from which he had 
raised himself while listening to the maiden. 

At that moment a beam of light entered the case- 
ment and settled upon his face ; Helen Claiborne 
saw it, and her heart leaped at the sight, and she 
hid her face in her hands and prayed inwardly that 
it might be an omen of her patient’s recovery. 

Let us now shift the scene to St. Mary’s. 


CHAPTER XVIIT. 

It was early on the morning following the events 
last related, that a traveler, dustv with riding, en- 
tered the city of St. Mary’s. Most of the inhabit- 
ants were already astir ; and many of them, now 
that the freshness of the panic had worn off, were 
engaged in their usual avocations. Some there 
were, idlers, malcontents, and refugees from the 
country arounl, who lounged about questioning all 
they met concerning the latest news— or specula- 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


63 


ting among themselves upon the probable conse- 
quences of the rebellion. One occurrence, how- 
ever, had made obvious to all, that the present out- 
break threatened more seriously the peace of the 
colony than any previous disaffection. 

To the Governor’s call for volunteers, the Puri- 
tans and Presbyterians had not responded ; and a 
resolution in council the preceding day, for drafting 
from such citizens as were able to bear arms, 
though carried at length, was vehemently opposed 
by those of the two sects who were entitled to be 
present; and the tidings of its passage was received 
with so many sullen murmurs of defiance by their 
adherents without, that the Governor hesitated 
about putting it into operation. 

It was a matter of no small astonishment to Cap- 
tain Branthwayte and the party friendly to the 
Proprietary, to find Master Dandie voting invariably 
with them, and sustaining all their measures, both 
for supplies and defence, with singular zeal, if not 
with ability. That worthy, however, had a char- 
acter to regain ; and having previously calculated, 
with tolerable certainty, that the Governor would 
have a majority without him, he concluded it would 
be the part of wisdom to aid in a matter in which 
the probability was that, let him act as he would, 
he could not prevent success. Once, and once 
only, he wavered. A member being taken sud- 
denly ill was compelled to leave the council ; and, 
as the question was one of some moment, all eyes 
were turned toward him to see how he would act 
under the circumstances — he having the casting 
vote. With the doggedness belonging to his cha- 
racter, he revolved the matter in his mind, and de- 
termined to preserve his consistency, though those 
who watched most narrowly during that eventful 
moment, saw his countenance change twice. He 
voted with the Governor — to the satisfaction of the 
latter, and the open-eyed wonder of Branthwayte 
and the rest of the cavaliers. 

At the old accustomed gathering place before the 
door of Master Clifton, the Barber, stood a small 
group of citizens ; and though the traveler sought 
to avoid their notice by passing on the opposite side 
of the street, and by bringing his broad-leaved hat 
closer over his brew, yet, with the little knot of 
idlers to recognise and to hail him, was the act of 
an instant. 

“ Hillo ! Hal Rugly!” said a citizen in grey 
frieze, — “ Why, whither hast thou been, man, so 
early 1 Rein up your horse a minute, and give us 
some news of Claiborne, or of the salvages, if thou 
can’st.” 

“ What should I know of either the one or the 
other 1” replied Rugly, disregarding the wish of the 
speaker, and pushing steadily on. 

^ “ Hear him !” said a sheepish-looking young 
man, whom the reader may perhaps recollect by 
the name of Quiet Waters. “Hear him! ’las now 
as if he was not hand and glove with Claiborne 
himself. I could an’ I would say something, 
but — ” and he shrugged his thin shoulders with an 
air of great rriystery. 

“ Eh ! eh ! what is it, lad 1 whatis it I” eagerly 
enquired Master Clifton, thrusting his spectacled 
nose between the by-standers, and standing upon 
tiptoes, with out-stretched neck, to catch the 
reply. 


“ Saunders ! why Saunders !” screamed the shrill 
voice of his wife, and the unfortunate man, holdh)g 
up both his hands to deprecate any malicious com- 
ments from his companions, hobbled off to obtain 
the commands of his peremptory spouse. 

Meanwhile Rugly, who continued to press slowly 
forward, was doomed to meet with a second inter- 
ruption. 

“ Hist ! Rugly, hist !” cried the portly Host of 
the Red Lion, leaning over the balustrade that sur- 
rounded his porch, and accosting the Partisan in a 
whisper. 

“ Hither, my jolly lad — my boon companion — 
where is our sea friend — our merman 1 Blessings 
on his pleasant face. I declare my sides yet ache 
with laughing at his merry quips. Ho ! ho ! ho ! 
Tarry, good Hal, and slake your thirst; you seem 
pale and weary. Why, what ails thee, man 1 — 
Come in — come in.” 

“ I thank you. Master Halsy ; some other time.” 

“Well, as thou wilt. But what of my dainty 
Neptune 1 As I live, the man is distraught ; he 
hath ridden on without answering.” 

And so it was ; nor did he slacken his rein, until 
he reached the gates of the Castle. 

Leonard Calvert was in conversation with Tre- 
vor, when a servant entered, and stated that a man 
requested audience of his Excellency. 

“ Who is it Thompson, and what does he want 1” 

“ His name is Rugly, and he says his business is 
with you alone.” 

“ Some volunteer, I suppose,” said the Governor. 
“ Go to him, Trevor, thou canst do all that is ne- 
cessary in the matter.” 

“ May it please you,” said Thompson, “ he told 
me he sought an interview with your Ercellency 
personally, and that if this was not granted, he 
would return as he came.” 

“ A churlish speech ; arguing either rudeness in 
the man, or tidings that he holds will excuse it. — 
Admit him.” 

On entering the presence of the Governor, Rugly 
took off his slouched hat, and stood fumbling it with 
both hands in an embarrassed manner, till the voice 
of Calvert aroused him. 

“ Well, my good friend, what wouldsl thou with 
us I” 

Rugly looked uneasily for a moment at Trevor, 
and then reddening and stammering, said — 

“ I — I would speak with your Exceleincy ; some- 
thing for your private ear.” 

“ Your Excellency !” 

“ Peace, Trevor ; I know what thou wouldst say, 
but I fear nothing — this way, my friend.” So say- 
ing, the Governor opened the door of a small inner 
apartment, and motioning Rugly to enter, closed 
it after them. 

“ Be seated, Master Rugly,” said the Governor, 
pointing to a chair. “You appear exhausted; a 
glass of wine may relieve thee.” 

The Partisan took the beverage from the hands 
of the Governor, and swallowing it eagerly, resumed 
his seat. 

“ Thine errand to us is — ” began the Governor, 
blandly. 

“To obtain a pardon for all past offences, so 
please you, on condition that I put your Excellency 
in possession of important tidings concerning Clai- 


64 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


borne’s present condition and views, together with 
the names of many citizens who are covertly aiding 
the rebellion.” 

“ If thou doest this truly,” replied the Governor, 
“ not only will we grant thee all that thou askest, 
but will also add to it a reward proportioned to the 
value of thine information. First, howeve-, I wish 
thee to answer me a few questions. Thou hast 
been leagued with these men.” 

“ I have.” 

“ What motive has induced thee to leave them 1” 

“ Because I have been treated like a dog.” 

“ By whom — Claiborne 1” 

“ No, his companion, Ingle, who was for some 
days in the city conferring with the Puritans, under 
the guise of one of their sect, though he sometimes 
threw it off, and paraded the streets in his own garb, 
without detection. He would have shot your Ex- 
cellency on the skirts of the city, the day you went 
out to meet Mistress Branthwayte, but I stayed his 
hand. He says you put his brother to death.” 

“ His brother,” said Calvert, sternly, “ w as tried 
by the laws, and justly suffered condemnation for 
piracy and murder.” 

“ I but repeat his words,” said Rugly, sullenly. 

“ True, true ; I blame thee not, good fellow. — 
Wast thou with him when he escaped Captain 
Cornwallis 1” 

Rugly answered in the affirmative. 

“ Who were the others I” 

“ Arthur Cornwallis.” 

The Governor drew a deep breath, “ Go on,” 
said he. 

“ An Indian girl, and four seamen ; those were 
all.” 

“ So, if thou hadst been dealt fairly by, thou 
wouldst have remained with them.” 

“I would,” said Rugly, bluntly. 

“ I like thee the better for thine answer ; because 
I can now give more credence to what thou hast to 
relate.” 

“ This letter, so please you, I was commissioned 
to deliver according to the direction here written.” 

The Governor broke the seal, and read as follows : 

“ To the worthy Masters Graee-be-fall Cripps and 
Zedekiah Hatty, greeting : 

“ Sirs — 

“ The lukewarmness of many of our friends — the 
lack of the necessary munitions of war — together 
with the disaffection of my trusted allies, the Pato- 
womacks, compel me to disband the remainder of 
my force, and give up all present effort in the good 
cause ; for the success of which, I have earnestly 
toiled and prayed. Yet am I not as one altogether 
without hope that the day will soon come when we 
may meet together, and smite the spoiler and the 
prideful, and uplift the lowly and the meek of heart. 

*‘ Thy loving friend, 

, “ William Claiborne.” 

Calvert lifted his eyes from the letter he had just 
perused, and fixing them, with a calm, searching 
scrutiny upon the partisan, pointed to the paper, 
and inquired of him if he knew what was therein 
written. 

Rugly replied in the negative ; adding that he 
had placed it in the hands of the Governor in the 


exact state that it had been received from Claiborne, 
in person. 

“ Read, then,” said Calvert, “ and tell me if this 
is true.” 

The Partisan hurried anxiously over the contents, 
and then, with a reddening brow, returned the letter 
to the Governor. 

“ False,” said he, “ from beginning to end. Of 
arms, he has more than will suffice for double his 
number ; and not only have the Patowomeks not 
deserted him, but they are anxious to begin the 
war. Why he has written this, your Excellency, 
I am at a loss to understand ; for well I know he 
has most accurate knowledge of all your movements, 
and is even now almost ready to take up his line of 
march against you.” 

“Thou speakest boldly. Master Rugly. We are 
not wont to be led away by the simple assertion of 
a stranger, unless he brings with him some proof 
that will substantiate his words. I take it for granted 
thou art prepared to do so.” 

“ I am, sir,” replied Rugly, “ though more by a 
fortunate chance, than with any expectation that I 
should have been disbelieved.” 

“ Not disbelieved,” said the Governor, mildly, on 
seeing the Partisan was piqued that any doubt at 
all should have been cast upon his evidence. “ I 
told thee before that I was prepared to give credence 
to thy statement; yet, thou must be aware wilh how 
much greater reliance I can act, should I find those 
statements confirmed from other sources.” 

The Partisan bowed ; and drawing from his in- 
ner vest a dingy, square cornered note, with a large 
scrawling superscription, he said — 

“ Last evening, while lounging about the outskirts 
of the camp, 1 was accosted by an emissary from 
Master Dandie, who, knowing me to have been ac- 
tive in Claiborne’s service, desired I would deliver 
this to him without delay. I did not do so, but re- 
tained it, with the view of delivering it to your Ex- 
cellency the first opportunity that offered.” 

Leonard Calvert bstrayed more emotion than was 
customary to his usually serene and unruflled tem- 
perament, when he found that the letter contained 
a full account of all that bad transpired in the city 
and Castle subsequent to the disappearance of 
Claiborne. His plans were disclosed — his force 
estimated — his weaknesses pointed out — and even 
their resolutions in council betrayed ; concerning 
which, inviolable secrecy had been enjoined. 

“ The villainous traitor !” muttered the incensed 
Governor. “ Branthwayte was right — I should 
haveprushed him long ago; but he shall not escape 
me now. Within there !” he exclaimed, moving 
towards the door ; when Rugly, with some trepida- 
tion, interrupted his progress. 

“ Under favor, sir,” said the Partisan, “ you are 
unwise in this matter. There is a nest of hornets 
to capture; and if one only be seized, the others 
may take the alarm, and be beyond reach of pursuit 
before you are prepared to follow.” 

“ I believe thou art right,” said Calvert, after 
musing for a moment; “ and I thank thee, Master 
Rugly. Thon hast done the Proprietary this day a 
service that shall not be passed over lightly. Pro- 
ceed you, while I take such notes as may aid me in 
my after conduct.” 

Thus saying, the Governor seated himself, and 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


65 


drawing writing materials toward him, committed 
rapidly to paper the names of the principal conspi- 
rators within the city — the location of Claiborne’s 
camp — the number of his assembled adherents — to- 
gether with such other particulars as the Partisan 
could give from his own knowledge, or as elicited 
from others, by previous inquiry. This relation 
was not concluded without sundry exclamations 
from the writer, expressive of his astonishment that 
the plot was so deeply laid, and its ramifications so 
extensive. 

There was one portion of the Partisan’s narrative 
that afforded Calvert a very lively gratification. It 
was that in Which he spoke of Forster being alive, 
though a prisoner. Nor did the noble representa- 
tive of the Proprietary feel a less sincere pleasure 
on hearing Rugly interpose a doubt whether Ar- 
thur Cornwallis was, in reality, a willing mem- 
ber of the conspiracy, if, indeed, he was connected 
with it at all — a doubt which the Governor more 
readily concurred in, when he heard of that mis- 
guided young man’s attempt upon the life of Ingle, 
growing out of his generous interference in the af- 
fair of the young Indian girl. 

“ I believe,” said he, “ the young man’s heart 
still retains some good impressions, and pity it were 
that the son of so gallant a father should stain his 
name by leaguing with a horde of wretches, whose 
only aim is to subvert all rule in the Colony. But 
enough of this. Master Rugly, art thou content to 
remain here a close prisoner for a couple of hours, 
while I confer with a few friends 1” Seeing the 
Partisan exhibit signs of uneasiness at the mention 
of being kept in durance, even for so brief a period, 
he added — 

“ Do not suffer thyself to feel any needless alarm. 
On my return, I pledge thee my honor, thou shall 
be as free to go whithersoever it pleases thee, as if 
thou wast now at large.” 

“ Oh, sir,” said Rugly, casting himself at the 
Governor’s feet, “ I have been a contemner of all 
law ; and though I have never shed man’s blood, 
thank God ! yet there is a weight and oppression 
about my heart that I cannot shake oft. I have 
been banded with those who seek your life ; and I 
sought you to-day, less from any love I bore you or 
yours, than from a desire to retort injury for injury. 
Your gracious words, so different from what I had 
reason to expect, have opened my eyes to my past 
follies, and filled me with a desire to honorably re- 
trieve my tarnished character, by serving your Ex- 
cellency faithfully, in any manner you shall deem 
most suitable.” 

“ Rise, my good sir,” said the Governor, kindly. 
“ We will take what thou hast already done as an 
earnest of good wdll tow'ards us ; and if thy desire 
of reformation be sincere, thou shall not lack incen- 
tives to persevere in the path thou hast chosen.” 

W’ith many expressions of gratitude, Rugly re- 
sumed his seat, while the Governor departed to call 
together the friends of whom he had spoken. 

In less time than he had stated, the Governor re- 
turned, but not alone ; for, following him at a re- 
spectful distance, appeared the soldierly presence of 
Ancient Anas Todkill. Rugly looked alarmed at 
finding Leonard Calvert thus attended ; but the 
kind address of the latter quickly reassured him. 

“ Master Rugly,” said he, “ the service thou bast 

5 


rendered us, hath entitled thee not only to our 
gratitude, but also to a reward of a more substantial 
character ; while the willingness so lately expressed 
by thee to do any thing that might restore thee to 
an honorable station among our citizens, embolden 
us to think thou wilt still further serve us in a mat- 
ter of much moment.” 

“ Whatever your Excellency may require, even 
though it be at the hazard of my life, I will do,” 
replied Rugly, energetically, 

“ Consider well, sir,” said the Governor, gravely, 
yet with a smile of encouragement; “I will take 
no advantage of this rash promise of thine, but after 
thou hast heard what we require of thee, will leave 
thee free to accept or reject, at thy pleasure.” 

“There is nothing I can do,” returned the Par- 
tisan, “ which I will not do heartily, if so be it gain 
the favor of your Excellency.” 

“Well, then,” replied the Governor, “it has 
been thought meet, in order to allay any suspicion 
respecting our movements, that thou shouldst return 
to Claiborne’s camp, having first delivered this 
package to the men to whom it is directed.” 

“ Sir,” said Rugly, turning pale with apprehen- 
sion, as the consequences of the discovery of his 
dealings with the Governor rushed upon his mind — 

“ Remember, my friend,” said Calvert, conside- 
rately, “we do not urge thee to undertake this 
thing, though of a surety it might much affect our 
success, if by thy presence among them they were 
diverted from any suspicion that ihou hadst loyally 
divulged their most traitorous plans.” 

“ An’ it please you. Master Rugly need not go, 
if it mislikes him,” said the Ancient. “ Old as I 
am, I can thread the forest, and manage to bring ye 
such tidings as may be of avail to the good cause.” 

“ Thou art a brave soldier. Ancient said the 
Governor, grasping his hand warmly, “ and our fol- 
lowers would lose more, wanting thy experience to 
guide them, than we could gain by any information 
thy absence could gather. Master Rugly I do not 
the less thank thee for the good thou hast already 
done, because you fear to incur the risk of entering 
Claiborne’s camp again, and if thou wilt serve with 
our forces, we shall be pleased to have thee among . 
us.” 

“ I thank your Excellency,” replied the Partisan ; 

“ but I have made, up my mind to go back to Clai- 
borne.” 

“ Gallantly said,” exclaimed the Ancient. “ Tut, 
man, look not so chap-fallen ; there is no danger in 
it, that a brave man would not dare in a good 
cause.” 

“ It may be so, sir,” said Rugly, speaking in a 
desponding tone, as if oppressed with some dreadful 
presentiment of evil ; “ and yet, though I will not 
withdraw from my resolution of fulfilling his Ex- 
cellency’s commands, there is a foreboding at my 
heart which tells me we shall never meet again. — 
Oh, sir,” he continued, addressing Calvert in a 
broken voice, “ if — if I should not survive this duty, 

I pray you to do justice to my memory. Let it 
not be upon men’s lips that I died a traitor to the 
interests of the Colony. Promise me this, sir, and 
I will serve you, whatever befall.” 

“ I do promise thee. Master Rugly,” said the 
Governor, with emotion ; “ but be not cast down ’n 
this wise. Act warily, and I see no reason why 


66 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


thou shouldst not return to us in safety and in 
honor.” 

“ Aye, that he will,” said the Ancient, good hu- 
rnoredly ; “ and many a can will we clink together 
in good fellowship, when the rebels are put 
down.” 

Rugly smiled faintly, and the three entered the 
ante-chamber, and were preparing to descend the 
staircase, when, as ill hap would have it, Rugly’s 
eye encountered the alarmed gaze of Master Dandie, 
who was standing at the bottom of the steps below 
them. One glance was sufficient to satisfy the 
smith that the Governor knew all ; and with the 
hope of yet securing his own safety, he dashed 
through the open doorway, and bounded across the 
court-yard. 

“ For God’s sake arrest that man, or all is lost,” 
said Rugly, grasping the Governor’s arm, and point- 
ing in alarm to the fugitive, as the latter was near- 
ing the gates. 

“ Ancient,” said the Governor, quickly, “ take as 
many men as you can muster with speed, and pur- 
sue the traitor, John Dandie, wherever he may be 
found. Hurt him not ; he must be secured in safety 
and secrecy.” 

As soon as the smith had cleared the gates, he 
hastened, with no stinted speed, to his lodgings ; 
here he found Claiborne’s emissary, the Dwarf, 
waiting for him. Crushing the letter in his hand, 
which the Dwarf presented, he paced the room for 
two or three minutes in great agitation ; and then, 
having partially recovered from the confusion into 
which his present strait had thrown him, he seized 
a pen, and reading Claiborne’s missive, wrote on 
the back — 

“Save yourselves — Rugly has betrayed all — by 
the time you read this, I shall be with you.” 

Giving the paper to the messenger, he bade him 
put wings to his feet, and fly with all the speed he 
was master of; and the acute creature, instantly 
divining the nature of the emergency, disappeared 
on the instant. No sooner was he gone, than the 
smith, gathering together a few things of the most 
value, fastened them in a bundle, and prepared to 
follow. 

His hand was upon the latch of the door, when 
he heard the heavy tramp of men. He paused, and 
looked out at the window ; and his heart fell within 
him as he saw every avenue carefully guarded by 
the soldiers of the Proprietary. Determined to sell 
his life dearly, he grasped his pistols, and as he 
drew them back, and stood on his defence, the door 
was suddenly burst open, and Anas Todkill rushed 
upon him. So quick was this movement on the 
part of the Ancient, that the smith, in discharging 
his weapon, found his arm thrown up, and himself 
felled to the earth by one and the same motion ; 
and the next minute the soldiers had pinioned him 
in such manner as to render him incapable of fur- 
ther resistance. 

The orders of Sir Leonard Calvert had been to 
detain the smith secretly a close prisoner in his own 
room, until other arrests were made, and if this was 
accomplished, to send one of the soldiers with word 
to that effect. No sooner had be heard that his 
wishes had been obeyed to the letter, than turning 
to the Partisan, he said, with a smile — 

“Now, Master Rugly, thou rnayst pursue thy 


journey without fear ; the others shall not be mo- 
lested till thou art on thy way.” 

And Rugly, with a lighter heart, took leave of 
the Governor, and mounting his horse, pressed for- 
ward on his journey, stopping only to deliver Clai- 
borne’s letter to the Puritan deputies, in the manner 
that he had been directed by Calvert, to the no 
small mystification of those worthy gentlemen, who 
could make nothing of the epistle, when put beside 
that received by the Dwarf, in which the latter was 
said to have been sent as a guide ; and so they very 
wisely resolved to wait until they should hear far- 
ther; and by thus waiting, they found themselves 
a few hours afterwards in a small but strongly built 
apartment, carefully locked and attentively guarded, 
within the Castle of St. Mary’s. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

It was not long after his arrival at the camp be- 
fore Arthur Cornwallis became sensible of the rash- 
ness of the step he had taken. The impetuous 
impulse that prompted the act had passed away, 
and the reflections that ensued showed him how 
deep and heinous was his offence. 

A quick and passionate temper had been the 
bane of his existence ; through it he had, as he be- 
lieved, occasioned the death of a brother whom he 
loved ; and to shield himself from the reproaches of 
his only remaining parent, he had readily lent him- 
self, in his fear, to become the bearer of a letter 
which he knew contained a false statement of the 
manner of that brother’s decease. Remorse suc- 
ceeded, and he sought in wine and revel in the 
company of dissolute companions — and in midnight 
wassailings, to drown the remembrance of the past. 
Passion incited him to seek out the Lily of St. 
Mary’s, and again beseech her to bestow on him 
that love which she had before told him she could 
not give; and now, as he reviewed these things* in 
his solitary rambles about the camp, he would 
scarcely admit to himself how deep was his wretch- 
edness. An outcast from his home, a traitor to 
his family and his dearest friends, he felt, in the 
agony of his spirit, that life had truly become a 
burthen, so heavy to bear, that be was almost ready 
to end his misery with his own hand. 

There was only one being in the wide world that 
he knew really loved him ; and she, the gentle, art- 
less Neenah, towards whom his heart warmed the 
more affectionately in his present wretchedness, 
was too far removed from him by the accident of 
birth, and that lingering pride which too often 
remains with a man after all else has departed, to 
be anything more in his eyes than an humble and 
devoted friend ; and devoted, indeed, she was — for 
here, among her own tribe, she felt at home, and 
in her innocent gladness she would laugh from 
morning until night, and she would tell him the 
names of the various dusky warriors, and the deeds 
each had achieved— of how Powhatan had sought 
to subjugate her people, and how they had success- 
fully resisted the immense numbers that he brought 
against them ; and she would speak of her brother 
Opachiko, and of his daring, and of the nobleness 
of his nature ; and tkgn she would descant, in her 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


67 


broken way, of the happy life of the forest people — 
how they hunted, and fished, and moved from one 
sunny spot to another ; — of the maidens of her 
tribe — that they wrought light robes for the young 
braves whom they loved — and made gay moccasins 
for them, and decorated their attire ; and that they 
loved deeply, and steadfastly, and that their love 
never died ; and then she would lift her dark melt- 
ing eyes up to his, and say, that even so did she 
love him, until he smiled sadly, and half wished 
that he had been born a denizen of the forest, or 
that the prejudices of his race had not debarred 
him from taking to his heart so pure and guiltless 
a being as the earnest young forest girl at his 
side. 

Forster and Cornwallis had met more than once, 
but the latter felt so humbled and abashed, that the 
young soldier should find him apparently leagued 
with the insurgents, that hexendeavored to shun 
him as much as possible. 

At their second meeting, indeed, Cornwallis 
made an effort to accost him, for the purpose of 
explaining away, as far as he could, the suspicious 
nature of his present position ; but the coldness 
with which Forster received his salute had such an 
effect upon his quick, ardent temper, that he passed 
on, leaving the words unuttered. 

It was shortly after this an event occurred which, 
while it tasked his energies to the utmost, devel- 
oped his better nature. He was running about the 
camp, goaded almost to despair by the rebukings of 
his conscience, and thinking what fatal conse- 
quences to his happiness had grown out of his first 
imprudent step, when Neenah came up behind 
him, with her light noiseless foot-fall, and touching 
him gently on the shoulder, placed her finger on 
her lip with an air of mystery, and beckoned him 
to follow. Surprised, less at the action, than the 
peculiarly earnest manner of the girl, he imme- 
diately conjectured it must have some reference to 
his personal safety. Signalling her to lead on, he, 
with an assumed carelessness, lounged after his 
conductress till they reached the outposts of the 
camp ; here he was unexpectedly challenged by the 
sentinel, but at a word from the Indian girl, the 
man lowered his weapon, and suffered Cornwallis 
to pass. So soon as the latter was out of hearing 
of the soldier, he strode up to Neenah and enquired 
whither she was taking him, 

“ Young Eagle soon see,” she replied, looking 
back with a satisfied smile, the meaning of which 
puzzled him not a little. After some few minutes 
had elapsed, his conductress left the more open part 
of the forest, and descended, at a quicker pace, into 
a densely timbered dell, at the bottom of which he 
found a rapid but narrow stream of water. One 
side of this dell, or dark valley, as it might, perhaps, 
be appropriately called, consisted of precipitous 
rocks, covered with lichens and mosses ; and from 
the stunted trees that found a seemingly precarious 
foot-hold between the fissures of the stone, hung 
festoons of the wild vine, so leafy and thick as 
almost to shut out the light of day. It was here, 
beneath the shadow of the rocks, and within a na- 
tural arbor, that the Indian girl stopped ; and, to 
the surprise of Cornwallis, the first object that met 
his eyes, as he entered, was a maiden, whom he at 
once recognised as the daughter of Claiborne, 


Seeing that her lip quivered, and that she was 
very pale, he look her hand, and, with considerate 
gallantry, led her to a fallen tree ; and when she 
had seated herself thereon, he stood respectfully be- 
fore her, awaiting, not without impatience, the 
issue of his singular adventure.* 

After a pause, during which Helen Claiborne 
seemed to struggle with emotion, she at length fal- 
tered out, 

“ Master Cornwallis, it doubtless seemeth bold in 
me to have sent for you hither to this lone, seclu- 
ded place, with no one to witness the purity of my 
motives but this kind Indian girl ; yet, as I have to 
speak to you of a matter concerning yourself — and 
— and one I hope dear to you,” — here she blushed, 
and her voice trembled so that it was not until she 
had composed her thoughts by a strong and visible 
effort, that she was enabled to proceed, and then it 
was more in the form of a soliloquy than as if ad- 
dressed to any person. 

“ Who shall say,” she continued, “ that Helen 
Claiborne did not perform her duty, even though it 
was at the risk of her good name 1 If I do it not 
he will die — aye,” she added sorrowfully, while her 
lip quivered, and her dark eyes filled with tears — 
“ die ; he must leave us ; he longs for his home ; 
he thinks he will get better if he goes home to his 
father — well — well what is it to me— he shall go — 
yes, yes, perhaps — aye, perhaps it is best.” 

Again she relapsed into momentary silence — 
while Cornwallis, grieved at the emotion she dis- 
played, would have spoken some words of comfort, 
but he^feared to break the stillness, lest his voice 
should jar harshly her troubled feelings. 

“Master Cornwallis,” she again said sadly — “ I 
am told — that is — I — pardon me if I speak inco- 
herently — you are from St. Mary’s, I believe — your 
family — they live there. 

Cornwallis first turned pale, then reddening with 
conscious shame, replied they did. 

“You will pardon me,” she said, with a faint 
attempt at a smile, “if I seem over curious ; it is 
with a purpose that shall be unfolded to you soon. 
Your father, is he the brave old cavalier they call 
Captain Cornwallis ?” 

The young man suppressed a deep groan as he 
bowed, and replied that ’he was. Little did his 
mournful questioner know how deeply the iron was 
entering into his soul. 

“ What children has he 1” 

“ Myself — no more ; why do you ask 1” he said, 
looking around with a quick startling expression in 
his face. 

“ Your brother — what became of him ?” 

“ Madam !” he cried, as with a ghastly look he 
stood trembling all over, like a criminal caught in 
the commission of some dreadful act. 

Helen Claiborne was terrified, but supposing his 
agitation to arise from her recalling the memory of 
one whom he had deeply loved, she mastered her 
fear, and continued, 

“ It has been said he was lost at sea,” 

“ Has been said,” he repeated wildly. “ Who 
doubts it 1 Did I not see him with mine own 
eyes 1 Did I not hear the heavy plash 1 Did I 
not see the few weak struggles 1 Did these eyes 
not behold him sink 1 Did I not leap in after him 1 
Accursed be the hour that I saw these things, and 


68 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


doubly accursed be he who saved me from sharing 
the fate of poor Eustace. Oh, madam, whatever 
be your motive for recalling these things, I pray 
you, say no more, lest you drive me mad.” 

“Nay, Master Cornwallis, I am the bearer of 
good news — your brother lives !” 

“ Ha !” exclaimed Cornwallis, and with his 
eyes fixed, his breathing suspended, his arms thrown 
out, and every limb and muscle fixed and rigid, he 
stood motionless, as if suddenly transformed into 
stone. 

“ He lives, I say — I — I have seen him — will 
conduct you to him.” 

“ Ha ! ha ! ha !” laughed Cornwallis hysteri- 
cally, and then the muscles relaxed, and pressing 
his hand to his brows he reeled back and fell hea- 
vily to the ground, deprived of sense or motion. 

Helen would have shrieked outright in her con- 
sternation, had not Neenah sprang forward and re- 
called her to a sense of the danger all would incur 
if her cry should alarm the people at the camp. 

Bidding the maiden remain perfectly still, the 
Indian girl, with great presence of mind, scooped 
up some water with the hollow of her hand, and 
dashed it over the pale face of the prostrate young 
man. 

The cold liquid had the desired effect ; for, after 
a little while, the color came flitting back to his 
cheek and brow, and opening his eyes he raised 
himself on his elbow and gazed with a bewildered 
look about him. 

“ Was it all a dream 1” said he, “ or did some 
one tell me my brother lived 1” 

“No talk yet,” said Neenah — “Young Eagle 
not well — talk by and by and passing her arm 
about him as a support, she led him to the fallen 
tree, and seating him on it bade him lay his head 
on her shoulder. 

, “Not now, dear Neenah,” said he, rejecting the 
proffered aid, with a look of kindness that made the 
faithful creature’s heart leap with joy. 

“ Some one spoke of my brother — I remember, 
you said you could conduct me to him ; I pray 
you, do not mock me — speak — I am better now, I 
can bear all.” 

“ He has been kept a prisoner, by Captain Ingle 
— you must release him. Hush ! what is that 1 ” 

There was a crashing of the dry branches heard 
near them, and the little party crouched down in 
breathless suspense. Presently Helen Claiborne 
heard her name called, and before she could con- 
sider whether to answer or not, a noble mastiff 
came bounding into the leafy nook, and then, with 
a beating heart, she encountered the stern, fierce, 
fixed gaze of her father, and the sinister sneer of 
his companion, Ingle. 

“ What do you here"!” exclaimed he, in bitter 
anger, to his daughter, who cast down her eyes, 
but made no answer. “ To the camp — I will talk 
to you of this. And you, sir — how comes it I find 
you with my daughter 1” 

“Humph! a love tryst!” said Ingle, with a 
sneer. 

Claiborne looked at the speaker, as if he could 
have annihilated him on the spot where he stood. 

“ Speak !” said he to Cornwallis. 

“ Young Eagle sick,” said Neenah, interposing ; 
“ see — very white — walk out — while maiden stran- 


ger — he feel bad — very bad — then so,” and she 
imitated the state of a person fainting, “ I bring 
water — see.” 

“ Like enough,” said Claiborne, regarding the 
pale face and wet attire of the young man for a 
moment earnestly. ‘‘ Like enough — you look un- 
well, Master Cornwallis. I must enquire further 
into this; meantime, you will consider yourself 
my prisoner.” 

“ Sir !” said Cornwallis, drawing back ; but a 
look from Helen induced him to surrender his 
sword with a forced calmness, though it could not 
prevent him from saying sarcastically, 

“ If this is the usual manner of treating your 
friends. Captain Claiborne, they must certainly feel 
under deep obligations for the peculiar method you 
have of showing your kindness towards them.” 

“I mean no harm by you, young man,” said 
Claiborne ; “ hut I will first be assured you are my 
friend, before I conform myself in all things to your 
liking.” 

Cornwallis was about to reply, but recollecting 
how little a display of resentment would avail him 
under his present circumstances, he swallowed, 
with an ill grace, his rising anger, and suflercd 
himself to acquiesce, at least in seeming, in Clai- 
borne’s arbitrary conduct. The mystery only half 
revealed, concerning his brother Eustace, kept him 
in a state of extreme agitation ; though with more 
caution than was usual to his fiery temperament, 
he allowed no word to escape of what had been 
told him by the maiden. A shrinking disgust of 
Ingle, as the latter walked alongside, was the only 
symptom that at all betrayed what was passing in 
his mind. 

Once, indeed, it occurred to him that what had 
passed might have been a deep scheme between the 
Rtbel conf'^derates to entrap him the more securely 
in their toils ; but when he thought of the sweet, 
sorrowful face of the gentle Helen, and of her 
plaintive and earnest words, he rejected the idea, 
as dishonoring the purity of her nature. So, falling 
back upon the truthfulness of Claiborne’s daughter-, 
he resolved to wait, with all the patience he could 
muster, until he should find an opportunity of hear- 
ing a complete development of the fraud she had 
so openly charged Ingle with committing. 

Leaving, then, the little party to return to the 
camp, let us now speak of Ralph Forster. That 
gallant young soldier had already repented of his 
rashness in giving Claiborne his promise neither 
to escape nor interfere in any way with those with 
whom he might chance to be brought in contact. 
He saw, to his surprise, emissaries coming in and 
departing, of whose loyalty to the Governor he had 
never previously entertained a doubt. Men that 
stood high in St. Mary’s as respectable citizens, and 
in whom he well knew Leonard Calvert reposed 
the utmost confidence. Of the deputies lately 
arrived from New Providence he knew but little, 
except that they were men who were generally 
understood to be hostile to the interests of the 
Proprietary ; but that Arthur Cornwallis, the son 
of one of the oldest and "most honored colonists, 
should have leagued with these men not only 
against the Proprietary, but against his own father, 
seemed to the young soldier an act of so depraved 
a nature, that he could scarce refrain from telling 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


69 


the misguided young man how much he loathed 
and despised him. Determined at length to make 
an endeavor to escape in despite of all hazards — a 
resolution which perhaps the remembrance of Amy 
Roberts might have had some effect in hastening, 
though he wondered in his own mind in what man- 
ner she would receive the information of her cou- 
sin Will Blundell, being none other than the 
dreaded Capt. Ingle. He sought everywhere for 
Claiborne that he might recall his promise to that 
individual, being unwilling to do any thing that 
would infringe his parole until he knew what steps 
the latter would take upon the change of relation 
between them. 

It was while in this frame of mind that he fell in 
with Hugh Keintre and a group of men, among 
whom Duke Oby and the player Lightfoot, were 
most conspicuous. Keintre was reclining care- 
lessly upon the grass beneath the shadow of the far 
stretching branches of a large oak, while the others 
lounged in various attitudes round about him. In 
the middle of them all stood the player, and by his 
energetic and theatrical gestures it was evident the 
subject upon which they were speaking was, at 
least to him, an interesting one. Feeling that he 
could not better while away the time until he met 
with Claiborne, Forster drew nigh, and threw him- 
self upon the ground near Keintre, who had beck- 
oned him to take a seat beside him. 

“ Bah !” said Duke Oby, resuming the discourse 
which the arrival of Forster had for a moment in- 
terrupted. “ Bah ! what care I for your plays and 
your mummeries — the bear garden is the place for 
me. Give me a good bear and staunch dogs — 
plenty of hugging, and barking, and growling, and 
towsling — that’s the sport — a fico for your 
plays.” 

“ So say I, comrade,” replied Gib, stretching his 
long legs forward as he spoke, and bestowing an 
encouraging nod on Oby, “ So say I, comrade, — 
that’s work.” 

The player drew himself up to his full length 
and looked from one to the other of the speakers 
with the same dignified contempt, that a noble 
mastiff might be supposed to exhibit towards a 
brace of puppy dogs yelping at his heels. 

“Nay, never heed them, Lightfoot,” said Kein- 
tre; “ what do they know about the glorious 
art ?” 

“ Talk to me about bears and bear gardens in 
the same breath, with exhibitions at the theatre — 
the theatre Sus ! the world’s epitome!” exclaimed 
the player, his red face glowing with indignation. 
“ To me, who have trod the boards of the Globe 
and Blackfriars, and wrung admiring plaudits from 
the hands of gentle and simple.” 

“ Aye, simple,” said the laconic Gib. But with- 
out deigning to notice the offender’s reply, the 
player proceeded, — “ It is no small honor, I opine, 
to have followed, even at an humble distance, in 
the footsteps of Ned Alleyn, and Dick Burbage, 
and merry Jarieton, and sturdy Ben Johnson, and 
marvellous Will fShakespeare, and to have identi- 
fied myself with the glorious creations of Marlow, 
and Nash, and Green ; the rarest wits and heartiest 
boon companions that ever the sun shone upon, 
for I hold not with master Sleeker concerning 
honor, that 


‘ ’Tis as comfortable 
To die upon the embroidery of the grass. 

Unminded, as to set the world at gaze. 

While from a pinacle I tumble down. 

And break my neck to be talked of and wondered at.’ ” 

“ No indeed,” said Keintre with a laugh, “you 
would rather break your neck.” 

“ I would sir,” replied Lightfoot decidedly, “ I 
would.” ' 

Duke Oby cried, “ Hear him,” while Gibs ex- 
pressive “ Humph” was as much as to say, “ I 
should like to see him do it.” 

“ Ah !” exclaimed Lightfoot, surveying them from 
head to foot with a curl of the lip, expressive of 
the most supreme disdain, 

“ ‘ Let Hercules himself do what he may. 

The cat will mew — the dog will have his day.’ ” 

“Come, come,” said Gib threateningly, “ no 
nicknames.” 

“ Ha ; threat’st thou me, Begonian I” cried the 
player, whipping out his sapier, and throwing him- 
self into an attitude. “ Ho, every one stand back 
while I pink this longshanks.” With a muttered 
curse, Gib sprang forward, and matters began to 
assume a serious shape, when Claiborne, attracted 
by the noise, stepped up, and flinging himself 
between the combatants commanded them to 
cease. ' 

“ What is all this brawling 1” said he sternly. 
“ Is it not enough we have enemies to fight with, 
that we should quarrel among ourselves 1 Put up 
your sword, sir, this instant; we need no stage antics 
here.” 

“ And you. Sir Smith, see that you be as ready 
to strike when you are bidden as you are apt at 
other times. Keintre,” added he, casting ^a re- 
proachful glance upon his subordinate, “ I did not 
expect to see you aiding and abetting in this mat- 
ter.” 

“ Grammercy, sir,” replied the lieutenant, “ what 
could I do — they are both choleric spirits ]” 

“ Let them keep their choler for a fitter occasion,” 
replied Claiborne sharply. “ Look that I hear no 
more of it, or mark me, the first man that trans- 
gresses I’ll hang upon the nearest tree. Well, sir, 
what would youl” but seeing it was Forster who 
was about to address him he changed his tone. 
“ Ah, my young friend, come this way if you wish 
to speak to me. 

Plunging into the forest, they gained a spot se- 
cluded from the noise of the camp. 

Now,” said Claiborne, “I am ready to listen.” 

“ Captain Claiborne,” said Forster, “ in all 
things, except as respects my capture, you have be- 
haved kindly towards me, and I up to this time 
have faithfully kept my promise, speaking to no 
one, interfering with no one, and restricting myself 
to the bounds of the camp.” 

“ Well,” said Claiborne, seeing his companion 
pause. 

“ I — I wish to surrender myself your prisoner.” 

“ So,” muttered Claiborne, darkening — “ and you 
wish to return to St. Mary’s 1” 

“ If I can.” 

“ And you would disclose all you have seen and 
jieard to the Governor.” 

Forster was silent 


70 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


“ Thou wouldst — thou wouldst,” said Claiborne 
impatiently ; adding with bitterness — “ This is the 
return you propose Jo make me for all the kindness 
you spoke of.” 

“ I am the servant, sir, of the Governor,” said 
Forster firmly, “ and my duty — ” 

“ Enough,” interrupted the leader. “ I under- 
stand you.” He mused for a minute or two, and 
having calculated from the arrival of a portion of 
his expected force, and the presence of the depu- 
ties from New Providence, that he would be able 
to commence operations on the morrow, he reasoned 
that if he could delay the restoration of Forster’s 
pledge until that time, it might, in the event of the 
possible escape of the latter, render his tidings in a 
great measure valueless. “ Master Forster,” said 
he with a seeming frankness, “I will not deny hav- 
ing had hopes of inducing you to join our cause — 
not that the addition or loss of a single man affects 
us either way, but out of the sincere love I bore 
thy father. It seems, however, thou art bent on 
rashly assisting to prop a falling house ; wherefore, 
however much I may think it an act of folly, if I 
cannot win thy favor by fair means I will not co- 
erce thine inclinations. Think of this matter once 
again, let the agreement between us stand as it is 
for a day or two longer, say two days at the farthest; 
at the end of which time if thou art still of the 
same mind, thou shall see that William Claiborne 
seeks not to gain an unwilling follower. What say 
you,” he continued, holding out his hand. “ Shall 
it be so — art content 1” 

“ I am,” said Forster, reluctantly accepting the 
proffered grasp, and not without strong doubts of 
Claiborne’s sincerity. 

“ Come, then, let us return. To-night we have a 
friendly wassail, and thou must join us ; and if we 
talk what thou wouldst miscall treason, why take 
an extra draught or two of the wine cup and for- 
got it.” 


CHAPTER XX, 

In her favorite bower, and seemingly engaged in 
a delicate piece of embroidery, while in truth her 
thoughts were more busily brooding over treasured 
memories’ sat Mary Branthwayle. For a while 
she plied her needle almost unconsciously, but, at 
length, as if weary of her self-imposed task, she laid 
the little embroidery frame on the rustic seat beside 
her, and nestling her hands together in her lap, fell 
into a deep study. 

Whatever might be the subject of her uneasiness, 
the shifting and changeful play of her features; the 
brightening eye, and the faintest perceptible smile 
showed that her day dream was by no means an 
unpleasing one. A grave shadow would indeed at 
times intrude, but it was quickly chased away by a 
smile that seemed the more blithesome from the 
temporary gloom which preceded it. The approach 
of a light footfall was the means of breaking this 
pleasant reverie. 

“ Well Amy,” said she to the new comer, “ you 
have a world of news to tell me ; at least I should 
judge so from your countenance ; and good news 


I too, or my sad young friend would not look so light 
I hearted.” 

j “ Indeed I have,” said the almost breathless girl. 
I “Oh we shall all be so happy once more. These 
I horrible troubles will soon be over now. That bad 
j man, John Dandie, has been imprisoned by his 
I Excellency ; and those two Puritans, Hutley and 
I Crepps, have been brought into the Castle under a 
guard of soldiers ; and I do n’t know how many 
more are coming up the street now. Master Tod- 
kill says they have all been assisting Claiborne, 
and that they will be tried for treason, and they 
are now going to send out men. Captain Trevor 
is to go with them, and the Ancient, who says he 
is with Claiborne and alive, only a prisoner, and 
he will now be rescued.” 

“Your speech, good Amy, is confused — you 
talk in riddles. He — who 1” 

“ ’Las now,” said the girl blushing, and toying 
with the corner of her ’kerchief. “ A man came to 
the Governor this morning and said Claiborne kept 
him confined in some out o’ the way place in the 
woods; but Master Todkill says he knows where 
it is, and that he will be sure to bring him back.” 

“ Very mysterious, — he — him — he. Of whom 
do you speak 1” 

“ Why of — of the — of Ralph — I — I mean of 
Master Forster,” she replied in some confusion. 

“ Oh !” said the Lily, laughing, — “ now you can 
go on. I unilerstand, — the young man, who 

“ Yes Madam,” she answered looking down and 
blushing to the very eyes. 

“ But it was now Mary Branthwayte’s turn to 
look confused ; for w^ile she was enjoying the 
perplexity of her humble friend, her eyes fell upon 
the person of Captain Trevor, coming up the walk 
towards her. He was armed and appointed as if 
ready for a journey ; and appeared surprised, and 
a little annoyed, to find the Lily was not alone. 
But his annoyance, if he in reality felt any, was 
quickly dissipated ; Amy Roberts, with that intui- 
tive perception so eminently characteristic of a 
woman who loves, or has loved, saw at a glance 
that her absence would be agreeable to at least 
one of the parties, if not to both ; so with a low 
courtesy, and a furtive smile towards the Lily, she 
took her leave without heeding the faint call of her 
friend desiring her to remain. When she found 
herself alone in the presence of Trevor, the Lily 
took up her neglected embroidery and feigned to 
be in very great haste to complete the flowers 
over which she had previously lingered so long ; 
though the quick eyes of the Governor’s lady some 
time afterwards detected divers and woful slips of 
the needle in this particular portion of the work, 
whereupon she did not fail to rally her fair kins- 
woman. 

As for Trevor, he did not seem to be a whit less 
awkwardly situated than his companion. He played 
with his sword knot ; he watched the now rapidly 
flying needle ; he counted the leaves of the vine 
overshadowing the arbour; he patted with his 
foot upon the ground ; and now he shifted his 
weight from one foot to the other ; now coughed, 
and at length succeeded in uttering the few words, 

“ Lily — I — I am come to bid you farewell.” 

“ Indeed !” said she, her large blue eyes gleam- 
ing with merry malice. “ Is that all 1 Truly, 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


71 


Captain Trevor, I deemed some strange ill surely 
had befallen you.” 

“ What greater ill could befall me,” said he 
earnestly, “than absence from those with whom I 
have been so pleasantly associated!” 

Are you about to depart on an embassy to the 
Court of Prester John !” she asked with affected 
simplicity ; “ truly it must be a journey of some 
months or years, or you would not look so wo-be- 
gone.” 

“ Perhaps it may be one from which I shall 
never return,” said Trevor, piqued at the lightness 
with which the maiden seemed to regard his leave- 
taking. 

“Now may heaven forefend !” she exclaimed 
hastily, while the young soldier sprang forward 
with delight to clasp the hand she had involuntarily 
raised ; but with the quick wit of a woman, who 
having been thrown off her guard, is yet deter- 
mined to retrieve the lapse, she added — “ Now may 
heaven forefend, for I know not how much the 
Governor might grieve for your loss.” 

“ Is the Governor all!” inquired he, with a dis- 
appointed air. 

“ All ! Is not that enough ! A modest man 
would have felt highly flattered at hearing from 
another’s lips even the bare supposition that his 
services were not lightly esteemed by his Excel- 
lency. But Captain Trevor, not content with 
this, very coolly asks, “Is the Governor all !” 

“ Believe me, I am not insensible to the kindness 
which hath ever been extended me by my good 
patron and your noble cousin ; a kindness for which 
I am more indebted to his rare benevolence of ! 
heart, than to any deservings of mine own. Yet, 
if obedience to his wishes can in any degree repay 
the" many favors bestowed upon me, no one shall 
ever have it to say that as far as my poor abilities 
are concerned,! have not served him zealously and 
faithfully. But there were others,” he added, with 
faltering accents, “ whom I fondly thought would 
take some interest in my welfare, though I now 
fear that in thinking thus, my desire hath over- 
leaped my judgment ” 

“ You are mistaken,’’ she replied, quickly ; “ there 
are many, very many. My father. Lady (Jalvert, 
Captain Cornwallis, your companions in arms, 
and — and ” 

“ Yourself! Ah! now indeed I thank you.” 

“ I said not so ; said I so !” 

“ Nay, but your thought.” 

“ He were a learned clerk that read my thought,” 
she replied, laughing merrily. 

“ Mary !” said he, with a reproachful look, “ I 
am about leaving St. Mary’s.” ’ 

“ Have you never left the city before, that it dis- 
tresses you so much! I crave your pardon, but I 
have a faint remembrance of one Sidney Trevor, 
some time commander at St. Inigoes, whose wont 
it was, if my memory be not treacherous, to pass 
and repass from one city to the other, as duty or 
inclination prompted ; but I cannot call to mind 
now, that in any of his manifold journeyings, he 
ever considered his departure from this place a case 
of peculiar hardship.” 

“ Not hardship, perhaps, but ” 

. “ Well, wellj choose your own phrase. It seems 
to me as if you felt the duty to which you have 


been called, either singularly oppressive in itself, or 
a charge which you assume with well-feigned re- 
luctance.” 

“ Because, dear Lily, I leave one behind me, to 
whom ” 

“ You go to seek the haunt of Claiborne,” said 
she, interrupting a declaration she hoped, yet feared. 
“ It is a noble duty — a duty worthy you, and all 
who love the Proprietary. Farewell, Sidney, and 
may you meet with all success in your enterprise.” 

“ One moment, Mary I implore you stay. Say 
that you will think of me in my absence !” 

“ Nay,” said she, looking down, and blushing 
deeply ; “ it needs not my promise to do that. He 
who preserved me from danger, and perhaps worse 
than death, deserves a place in my regard ; but,” 
she continued, sadly, “ ask me no more at present, 
I beseech you.” 

Trevor saw that she was deeply agitated, and 
though there was in her answer matter both for 
hope, and for despair, and though the latter feeling, 
from her unwonted emotion, seemed to predominate 
most, he yet clung to the more cheering expres- 
sions, while he thrust those of doubtful import be- 
hind him. 

“ One word more, dear Lily,” he exclaimed, pas- 
sionately ; “ if — if I am spared to return to you, 
tell me, oh ! tell me, I may hope.” 

Mary Branthwayte turned pale, and passed her 
hand before her eyes, as if to shut out some dread- 
ful image. 

“If he is spared,” she murmured, mentally. — 
“ Aye, there it is ! what shall I say ! If I say yes, 
and Cornwallis hear of it — oh ! God forbid !” and 
she shuddered and clasped her hands together. 

“Sidney,” she continued, turning her sad face 
towards the young soldier, “you have my best 
wishes ; but — but — ah! do not ask me to say moie 
— not now — at least, not now.” 

“ I understand,” said Trevor, his countenance 
changing ; “ and if I have dared to lift my thoughts 
toward you, I have been deservedly rebuked. I 
once dreamed, in my day dreams, that — but no, no, 
you did not h)ve me, or ” 

“ Did I not ! — do I not !” she exclaimed, with a 
burst of strong emotion. “ Oh, Sidney, I would 
lay down my life for your sake.” 

“ Then what have I done, dear Mary,” said he, 
taking her unresisting hand, and pressing it to his 
lips ; “ what have I done that is wrong in your 
eyes! Has any one dared ” 

“Oh, no! no! You are all my fondest wish, 
could desire — good, gentle, and kind. Ask me no 
more, I pray you ; it is for your own welfare I act 
thus.” ' 

“ My welfare — indeed ! How ! in what manner 1” 

“ I dare not say — in truth, I dare not say.” 

“ This is strange !” he murmured ; but as he 
looked at the drooping form of his fair companion, 
j and noted the anxiety visible in every line of her 
beautiful countenance, he added — “ This is a mys- 
tery I do not understand ; but I do believe you act 
thus for the best ; perhaps the time may come 
when you will feel at liberty to explain all.” 

“God grant it may,” she replied, with fervor; 
“ but I know not when that time will be.” 

“ And until then !” he asked, earnestly. 

Mary Branthwayte cast her eyes upon the 


72 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


ground, and for a time she trembled exceedingly. 
When she raised her eyes, they were filled with 
tears, and she answered, with a quivering lip, and 
broken utterance — 

“ Until that time, we must be as — as if we had 
never met.” 

“ Mary !” exclaimed Trevor, standing aghast at 
the destruction of all his hopes. 

“ I know what you would say,” she replied, 
gathering strength as she proceeded ; “ though it 
will be all in vain. If I followed the dictates of my 
own heart, I might appear less singular in your 
eyes, than doubtless I do now ; but this would 
bring destruction upon your head, and upon me — 
misery.” Her voice faltered, and Trevor, upon whom 
a light was gradually breaking, said, quickly — 

“ I understand ! ISToung Cornwallis hath done 
this — but fear not him ; quick, fiery, and passionate, 
I know him to be ; too quick, too fiery, to retain 
revengeful feelings lung. I know him well — his 
passion, like the lightning, may be deadly when it 
flashes out, but holds no longer than the sudden 
burst. A gathering of storm-clouds — a vivid glare — 
a fall of rain — and then a summer’s calm ; such is 
the nature of Arthur Cornwallis. Is it hel” 

Mary Branthwayte answered not ; but her ap- 
pealing glance said, “ Do not ask me.” Strife be- 
tween the young men must be avoided ; for the 
event, in either case, was to be dreaded. If young 
Cornwallis fell, his father lost the only remaining 
representative of an ancient and honorable house. 
If Trevor should be the victim, her peace of mind 
was lost for ever. She knew not that resentment, 
in quick natures, is never lasting; and that the act 
of to-day, if evil, is often, with such men, as bitterly 
deplored on the morrow. Had she knowm Corn- 
wallis as well as Trevor knew him, she would have 
been more at ease ; but she did not, and therefore 
she was silent. 

“ If it be as I suppose,” said he ; “ surely it were 
better I should know it at once. Against an open 
foe, I trust I can defend myself; but from the hid- 
den assassin no man’s life is secure,” 

“No more ! no more !” she exclaimed. “ What 
you have said, only proves to me the more forcibly 
that the resolution I have formed, is the only one 
calculated to ensure the happiness of both of us. 
Trust in me, and seek no further knowledge — at 
least for the present. It is sufficient that there is a 
barrier between us, which, until it is removed, forbid 
me to give you any hope.” 

“ And can I do nothing to ” 

“Nothing,” replied the maiden, sadly. “Do 
what you would, danger to others must arise from 
it ; and to those who are among your best friends.” 

“ It is very singular — this mystery — my best 
friends ! Oh ! Lily ! surely, surely, you are jest- 
ing !” 

“ Jesting !” she cried, with a shudder. “ Look at 
me, Trevor ! Do I look like one in jest I” 

All pale and tearfully she stood before him ; the 
ill-feigned coquetry with which she had at first at- 
tempted to divert the train of conversation, was 
gone, and she had relapsed into her true character — 
a fond, timid woman ; agitated with fear lest any 
encouragement given to him she loved best of 
all the world, should impel the rash Cornwallis to 
fulfil his terrible menace. 


There are some who, though by nature seemingly 
the most retiring and fearful of their sex, are yet 
found to possess a latent energy of character that 
beautifully developes itself on occasions of great 
emergency. The exercise of this power enables 
them to gain strength in proportion to the danger 
which calls it forth, but as the danger disappears, 
the excitement hitherto sustaining them subsiding 
likewise, they fall back into those quiet, graceful, 
unobtrusive ways, by which they were previously 
distinguished. 

Mary Branthwayte was not one of these. Her’s 
was a meek, yielding nature; looking up to others 
for support under trials, and loving them the more 
for the protection they gave. Of self-reliance under 
difficulties she had none. She was a very woman, 
with all a woman’s graceful and endearing quali- 
ties; and a child in purity and simplicity of heart. 
She had dreaded this interview, and now was al- 
most sorry they had met ; and yet, again, she would 
not that he should have left the Castle without a 
farewell word. Since they had spoken thus far 
only with increased embarrassment, it was with a 
feeling of relief she saw the Ancient approach ; 
who, delaying for a moment, to salute, with a gal- 
lant and right merry jest, the laughing Amy Roberts, 
taking from her hand the flower she presented, and 
saying — 

“ Wear it for thy sake ! Aye, marry will I, Mis- 
tress Amy ; a blessing on your pretty face. Ods 
fish ! I would I were young again. But what shall 
I take to one Ralph Forster, whom it is shrewdly 
suspected stands well in thy regard! Hast naught 
for him — eh !” 

“ The truant deserves a whip,” said Amy, blush- 
ing, and casting a sidelong glance at the old soldier 
as she spoke. 

The Ancient looked at her for a moment, with a 
quiet smile, and then slowly stroking his bearded 
chin, he said — 

“ So ! thou wouldst whip the youth — was not 
such thy speech 1 An old man’s ears are somewhat 
dull at times. Was it a whip, or a kiss, thou saidst 
thou wouldst bestow on him !” 

“ Now, out on you !” she cried, holding up both 
her hands. “ See, the Captain waits for you,” and 
with a merry laugh, and a shake of the finger, she 
bounded down the garden walk. 

“ Ah, a good wench,” said the Ancient, nodding 
his head approvingly, and following her with his 
eyes. “ A good wench — a right good wench, and 
a kind. Truly I hope no ill may happen to the 
young gallant she loves ; I would not she should 
lose him, for a hundred broad pieces.” 

“ Well, Ancient,” said Trevor, impatiently, as 
the old soldier drew near. 

“The troop are ready, sir, and only wait your 
coming. The Governor also bade me say he would 
speak with you before you mount.” 

The young officer hesitated, and looked at Mary 
Branthwayte. 

“ Go, 'J’revor,” said she. “ Master Todkill, I 
have something for your ear.” 

Thus enforced, Trevor took an embarrassed fare- 
well; and in his own agitation did not observe the 
increasing paleness of her he loved. So he left her 
with a mixed feeling of sadness and hope, such as 
he had never before experienced. 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


73 


“Ancient,” said the maiden, earnestly ; “what I 
now say to you, I desire to be kept in honorable 
secrecy from all others.” 

The Ancient bowed. 

“ It is known to me that Arthur Cornwallis has 
threatened the life of Trevor ; whether he would 
take advantage of base means to accomplish his end, 
I do not know.” 

“ Madam, I do not think so hardly of young 
Cornwallis. A wild roisterer I believe him to be ; 
and of a hot, impetuous temper. He is one who 
would say things in a moment of passion, which, 
in an hour hence, he will mourn most bitterly.” 

“ Yet is it well to be on your guard. You are 
an experienced soldier ; and by the esteem which 
Trevor bears towards you, I ask you to be near 
him — shield him from danger, for my sake. Will 
you do this 1” 

“ Will I, madam 1 Aye, indeed, as a father 
would guard his only son, or as a lover his mistress ; 
not alone for thy sweet sake, but for his likewise.” 

“ I thank you very kindly, good Ancient,” she 
replied ; “ and I pray you remember to keep this 
conversation a secret from all— even from him.” 

“ I understand,” said he ; “ and trust me, it shall 
go no further.” 


CHAPTER XXL 

It was well nigh evening when Rugly reached 
Claiborne’s camp. Though absent for so short a 
time, he was struck with the bustle and confusion 
that prevailed. The earnest of military preparation 
every where met his eye. There were no idlers 
now ; but each man busied himself as best he might, 
in making ready for the morrow’s march. Some 
were furbishing their arms — some making and 
feathering of arrows — some mending the straps, 
rivets, and buckles, of morions and breast-plates. 
The Indian warriors, already plumed and painted, 
alone stalked idly about, in all the pride of jingling 
bells and gay feathers, or leaned quietly beside some 
dusky forest girl, whose brown fingers were nimbly 
arranging the gay and tinkling ornaments that were 
to decorate the person of a brother, or a young 
brave, dearer still. There were others, too, who 
now arrived, and prowled about the camp — men 
with swarthy faces, fierce looking and relentless 
their garb ; half mariner, half landsman ; and these, 
Rugly had no difficulty in discovering to be the 
followers of Ingle. They were a bold, lawless 
looking set of men, whose garments, fashioned not 
unlike those of their chief, were yet fiercer than 
became their apparent station or calling. A wild, 
riotous set they soon approved themselves ; with a 
dash of ferocity in their remarks, which more than 
intimated their familiarity with scenes of blood, and 
caused the more immediate partisans of Claiborne 
to shrink from them in fear, and in dislike. 

To Claiborne, personally, this had proved a day 
of unmixed pleasure. All things seemed to con- 
spire together for the speedy accomplishment of his 
designs. Chiming in with the austere humor of 
the New Providence deputies, he had cast aside 
the more warlike garb of buff and steel, and arrayed 
himself in a close-fitting dress of sad colored silk. 


with a short Geneva cloak of the same material. 
His hat, a dark and broad-leaved Flemish beaver, 
was without a plume; and instead of the rich band 
and jewelled buckle generally worn by cavaliers, he 
contented himself with a narrow fillet of velvet, and 
a buckle of polished steel. 

These deputies, either allured by his prospects of 
success, his lavish promises, or, perhaps by both, 
had entered readily into his plans, and agreed to 
furnish him with men and means to aid him in his 
enterprise. But what Claiborne congratulated 
himself most upon, was having induced the repre- 
sentatives of the rival sects, out of regard to him, 
to unbend towards each other ; so that the Puritan, 
Master Holdfast, and his friend, a stout man in 
steeple hat and Geneva band, whose name history 
has not recorded, extended a formal courtesy to the 
Presbyters, White and Hutchins. This was all 
Claiborne desired. Warmer, indeed, he did not 
wish it, for working lightly together, the one party 
was a balance against the preponderance of the 
other ; whereas, had they attached themselves more 
closely, the politic leader saw that his own power 
might readily have been endangered thereby. 
Linking both to his cause by secret promises of 
religious preference, he determined to cast himself 
into the arms of one or both, or neither, as after 
circumstances might dictate. 

To the Puritans, he said, — “ See, I am almost 
one of you already, and my habits and feelings pre- 
dispose me to become more intimately connected. 
For the follies, and the vanities of the world, I have 
long had no regard ; and though pomp and cere- 
mony may be more attractive to the young and 
thoughtless, yet to a man of my years the simplicity 
and gravity of your faith is a sufficient warrant of 
the excellence of the doctrines you profess.” 

To the Presbyters, he spake in a different strain. 

“ Truly, gentlemen,” said he, “ were it only for 
the sake of my good friend and especial patron. Sir 
William Alexander, who aforetime hath stood me 
in such good stead — were it only for his sake, I say, 
I should feel in duty bound to promote your inter- 
est to the best of my poor abilities ; and though it 
may seem to you I lean too much towards the 
Puritan gentlemen of the Colony ; yet of this be 
assured, the friends of Sir William Alexander 
must ever be nearer my heart than any others, and 
the religious tenets they believe it shall always be 
my study to exalt and maintain.” 

Lured by such promises as these, each party sup- 
posing itself the most favored, strove to outdo each 
other in furnishing men and supplies. Little did 
they dream that events were then in progress of 
fulfilment operating materially upon their present 
plans, and no less affecting their subsequent move- 
ments. 

We have' said, it was well nigh evening when 
Rugly returned to the Camp, and that he noted, 
with a curious and inquisitive eye, the numerous 
accessions to Claiborne’s force, and the various cir- 
cumstances which evidenced that this force was 
soon to be put in motion. 

Directing his steps towards the rude habitation 
wherein Claiborne had taken up his quarters, he 
was received on the threshold by the latter in per- 
son. To him, Rugly related, in as succinct a man- 
ner as possible, the issue of his mission— not for- 


74 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


getting to state, as something remarkable, the du- 
bious manner in which his missive had been re- 
ceived. 

Claiborne rapidly questioned the Partisan in 
regard to the time the letter had been delivered, 
and the cause of the delay ; to which Rugly plau- 
sibly replied, 

“ I judged it would best become me to keep a 
Wary face, lest suspicion should attach to mine 
errand ; for I well knew the Governor had prying 
eyes abroad, in whose sight I desired to maintain 
as peaceful a character as I could.” 

“Right! very right!” said Claiborne, with an 
approving nod ; “ but these men, Hutley and 
Cripps — hast thou no token, no message I” 

“ None ! Master Hutley looked at me with 
some degree of wonder, as he read the paper, but 
he said never a word.” 

“ Indeed !” said Claiborne. “ And his com- 
panion, Cripps, was he too silent 1” ~ 

“Yes! or I ought not to say he was entirely 
mute, for I remember his once turning to his friend 
and saying, ‘ which of the twain thinkest thou, 
brother V though whether it related to this busi- 
ness, or some private affair of their own, I do not 
know.” 

Claiborne burst into a loud laugh. “ Come in, 
I^ugly,” said he, “I am afraid we have mystified 
them not a little ; but no matter, another day will 
undeceive them,” 

Assured, by Claiborne’s manner, that his visit to 
the Governor was not suspected, Rugly entered the 
room. A roughly-cotrstructed table, supporting 
flagons and drinking vessels, stretched through its 
entire length, and on either side were arranged 
seats. The sight of these, together with the walls 
decorated with green branches, were sufficient to 
acquaint Rugly that guests were expected, even had 
Claiborne not said, 

“ You see. Master Rugly, we are to have a little 
merry-making to-night. A few friends from New 
Providence, and some dozen or so of our own peo- 
ple, among whom thou hast been included. So sit 
thee down, man, they will be here soon and al- 
most as Claiborne ceased speaking, the expected 
guests came dropping in. With a smile to one, a 
nod to another, and a warm grasp of the hand to a 
third, he seemed to judiciously vary the mode of 
his recognition in accordance with the character of 
the individual addressed ; and if his courtesy at 
times appeared over-strained, and his welcome too 
warm, or boisterous, his consummate acting would 
have blinded more acute observers than most of 
those by whom he was surrounded. 

Before the seats were entirely filled night set in ; 
but with the gathering darkness, a sconce, contain- 
ing a sufficient number of lights to illuminate the 
place from one end to another, was placed on the 
centre of the table. 

The room selected by Claiborne for the celebra- 
tion of these orgies, served, on ordinary occasions, 
as an Indian council hall. It was of unhewn logs, 
wattled with clay between the interstices. 

There was no apartment above, but joists had 
been thrown across to support and strengthen the 
edifice ; and by the light of the sconce, could be 
seen dimly through the rafters another covering 
that formed the roof. 


It required no little tact on the part of Claiborne 
so to seat the rival deputies that neither should take 
umbrage by any appearance of undue preference. 
But this being at length happily accomplished, the 
flagons were put into active requisition, and in 
despite of the hypocritical gravity of the deputies, 
all things went on merrily. 

To Forster, who touched the wine cup sparingly, 
and more from a wish to avoid giving offence than 
a desire to join in the revelry, the scene was one 
well calculated to afford matter for deep and serious 
meditation. Here were the especial enemies of 
the Proprietary ; — the leaders of the revolt. 

Near to Claiborne on the one hand, sat the grim, 
hard-featured Puritans, Holdfast and his stout com- 
panion ; and on the other, the pale, bigoted, but 
quieter Presbyters, VVhite and Hutchins. All 
joined in the revel to conciliate their host, but with 
a certain scornfulness, as if sublunary pleasures 
were beneath them. By the side of Forster sat 
Hugh Keinlre, with his sensual but still handsome 
countenance now flushed with potations. His 
curled love-locks, hanging in shining black ringlets, 
exhibited the only remains of the once dainty cava- 
lier, if we except the free use of oaths, and the 
jaunty, reckless air which had now become 
habitual. 

On the opposite side of the table, and nearly 
midway of the room, sat Rugly. The Partizan, 
having, as he believed, passed the ordeal, now felt 
himself secure against detection, and entered into 
the spirit of the feast with the riotous mirth of one 
who, having escaped a great danger, felt himself 
correspondingly exhilarated thereby. 

The plain attire of Claiborne was strongly con- 
trasted with the gay, dashing apparel of Ingle. 
The latter, as if in scorn of the petty acts adopted 
by the leader, had arranged his exterior with cha- 
racteristic vestments of the finest quality. A well- 
fitting doublet, of dark crimson velvet, embroidered 
with gold, was fastened at the breast by means of 
round buttons of the same precious metal. His 
waist was encircled by a blue satin scarf, tied in a 
broad bow, and richly fringed with lace, from the 
voluminous folds of which peered out the butts of 
two gorgeously mounted pistols. Breeches, of 
great width, reached to the knees, and were there 
gathered with gay ribands, tagged with silver. 
Hose of dove-colored silk, and shoes of light-colored 
Spanish leather, completed an equipment which 
displayed his handsome form to the best advantage. 

No one who looked upon Claiborne that night 
would have imagined he was troubled, and yet, in 
truth, he wrestled with many anxious thoughts. 
Though his words and manner were marked by 
extreme suavity and condescension, it was his lips 
spake and his body bowed, while his thoughts were 
far distant. 

The hours flew on, and he looked every little 
while towards the door, as if expecting the entrance 
of some one whose absence seriously disquieted 
him. 

Meanwhile, every thing about him wore a gay 
and smiling aspect. Mirth and frantic merriment 
ruled the hour ; even the sober Puritans and staid 
Presbyters forgot, for a while, their differences, and 
clinking their drinking cups together, pledged each 
other in bumpers. Faster and more furious be- 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


75 


came the mirth ; cups clashed on all sides, and 
each talked, laughed, shouted, or sang, without 
caring much who was his neighbor. Still Clai- 
borne grew more restless ; until at length the Sea- 
man, who alone with Forster, had remarked his 
uneasiness, took an occasion to bend over towards 
hirn and whisper, — “ What cheer, brother 1 throw 
a little more sunshine into your face, if it be only 
to keep the folk about you in good heart. Why, 
man, were you to be hanged to-morrow you could 
not look more downcast. By the deep sea, but I 
am ashamed of you ; it is an insult to the good 
company. What ails you 

“ Hush !” said Claiborne ; “ I am anxious about 
that crooked messenger of mine; he should have 
been here as soon as Rugly, though six hours have 
since passed and I have had, as yet, no tidings.” 

“ Bah ! is this all ?” said Ingle carelessly ; “ he 
was ever a limping, churlish laggard.” 

“ Nay, that he was not ; that very Dwarf, Cap- 
tain Ingle, was ” 

A loud burst of laughter, and a crash of glasses, 
caused Claiborne to stop short in his speech, and 
direct his eyes to the point from whence the sound 
proceeded. There sat Rugly, singing drunkenly a 
childish lullaby, while clasped in each arm, and 
resting on his breast, were Duke Oby and the 
player Lightfoot, whom he rocked backwards and 
forwards, as if they were children he was lulling to 
sleep. 

At this moment a man entered and thrust a 
paper into Claiborne’s hand. The instant he 
glanced at it his face turned a livid white, and he 
clenched his teeth tightly together in the excess of 
his emotion. By a strong effort he succeeded, at 
length, in curbing all outward expression of feeling, 
and, with a steady and seemingly careless jesture, 
flirted the paper towards Ingle. The moment the 
latter read it, his eyes and Claiborne’s met. No 
words passed between them, but the looks of both 
spoke the same language, and what each meant 
was as perfectly understood as if their thoughts had 
been embodied in utterance. Forster, who had 
watched them narrowly, saw all this and trembled, 
for he felt that something yet more strange was to 
follow. Presently he saw the Seaman take advan- 
tage of the uproar and escape from the room. In 
a few minutes he returned. Forster watched his 
every motion. There w’as nothing in the Mari- 
ner’s countenance indicative of bad news ; on the 
contrary, he seemed in the highest spirits. He 
came down the room laughing with one and jesting 
with another ; with a third, he took up part of a 
drinking song, and then pledged him in a bumper. 
To Rugly and his maudlin companions, he was 
especially gracious. Those who saw him thus 
joyous, and heard his hearty laughter, thought they 
never had met a merrier man. Claiborne, with 
bis nostrils dilated, watched his progress with an 
eager eye. More eagerly still, watched Forster. 

“ A pledge ! a pledge ! Master Rugly,” shouted 
the Seaman. “Here’s Claiborne and success !” 

“ With all my heart,” stammered the Partisan ; 
and he seized the cup. 

“ Now for three cheers ! — Hip ! hip ! hurrah !” 

Loud and long resounded the deafening cheers, 
as Ingle swung his cup around his head laughingly 
— once — twice he did it ; but as he described the 


circle the third time, he lost his balance, and the 
flagon, descending on the sconce, swept it from the 
table, and all was total darkness. 

For a few minutes nothing but confusion pre- 
vailed. Some sat and talked loudly, as if to hide 
their fears. Others walked to and fro, jostling 
whomsoever they met; and some there were, 
whom Forster thought were standing on the tables, 
regardless of the cups, flagons, and drinking vessels 
with which it was covered. 

All at once Claiborne’s voice was heard above 
the din, and in a moment the voices and the 
shuffling of feet ceased ; and men sat or stood still 
and statue like, ^nd a deep awe fell upon them ; 
and well they might have felt this undefined dread, 
for when the sconce was relighted, and their eyes 
became accustomed to the blaze, they saw about 
the centre of the room, and depending from the 
beam above, a thin rope with a hangman’s running 
noose. Guests, too, were there they had not seen 
before ; swarthy men, upon whose brows ruffian 
was as legibly written as if branded there by the 
executioner. 

The dreaded men of Ingle — they stood in a com- 
pact body, armed to the teeth, but they neither 
spoke nor stirred. 

Some of the bolder spirits demanded the reason 
of the presence of so many armed men ; while 
White and Holdfast, crying out they were betrayed, 
drew their swords and prepared to sell their lives as 
dearly as they could. ' 

Claiborne sprang upon his chair, and with low- 
ering brows, that almost shaded the light of his 
fierce gray eyes, commanded silence in a voice that 
was distinctly heard above the uproar, and the next 
moment the fall of a feather might almost have 
been heard. 

“ Put up your swords, fair sirs !” said he, ad- 
dressing himself to the Puritans and Presbyters, 
who still stood on the defensive. “ I would not 
willingly harm a single hair of your heads ; yet are 
you indeed betrayed, but not by me. Ho ! there ! 
seize the traitor !” ^ 

And, as they looked suspiciously in one another s 
face, as if to ask, — “Is it you!” — four of those 
swart seamen, rushing forwards together, precipi- 
tated themselves upon Rugly, and bore him to the 
ground. 

With that intense instinct for self-preservation 
which is common to all men, the victim shook his 
foes off him and suddenly rose. All traces of his 
late drunkenness had disappeared ; he was pale 
and haggard ; a wound in the head, received in the 
brief but terrible struggle, caused the crimson blood 
to trickle down his face, marking its course with a 
horrible distinctness. 

Glaring for a moment upon all about him, he 
dashed suddenly for the door. Vain hope; the 
swarthy faces beset him every where, till, with the 
ferocity of desperation, he sprang into their midst, 
and in an instant a dozen muscular arras were 
wound about him. 

Not a word during the excitement had been 
spoken, but all now looked at Claiborne. He 
was still standing upon the chair, with 'his gray 
cavernous eyes flashing, his nostrils distended, 
and his lips tightly compressed. When Rugly 
first flung his assailants from him, a quick, sharp 


76 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


exclamation escaped him; bnt now, that his 
victim wns again secured, he uttered no word, 
but sternly pointed with his finger to the fatal 
noose. 

“ What, without form of trial V’ exclaimed For- 
ster with an indignant flush. “ Oh, sir ! for your 
own honor, for the world’s good opinion, do not 
act thus rashly.” 

“ Gentle Master Forster,” said Claiborne with 
the bitterest irony, “I pray you to keep calm, a 
little choler does not ill become young blood, but 
there are times when it is disgracious. Thou wilt 
pardon me, I know thou wilt, in recommending 
thee for the present to the care of my sturdy 
friend, Duke Oby, and his neighbor Daunton, — 
not indeed a prisoner, but as one under salutary 
restraint.” 

“ I protest — ” began Forster. 

“ Oh, doubtless,” exclaimed Claiborne sarcastic- 
ally ; then turning to the men he added, — “ Do 
your duly, sirs, and take heed that ye answer to me 
for his safe keeping, — away with him.” 

Sensible at length, that any efibrt at resistance 
would but increase his peril, Forster silently sub- 
mitted to be led from the room. 

No sooner was the door closed, than, as if con- 
scious the strangeness of his conduct required 
some explanation, Claiborne continued, 

“ Good sirs, I will not disguise from you that 
we have been beset with dangers, happily indeed 
discovered in time to prevent any serious conse- 
quences, yet hath the treachery been of so black 
and foul a nature, and so well nigh fraught with 
disaster, that well I wot it behooves us to mete out 
to the traitor the same measure he would have be- 
stowed upon ourselves. Lo ! there he stands, with 
guilt branded upon his brow ; and I have loved 
that WTetch ; loved him as a friend, — trusted him as 
a brother, — behold the recompense.” 

Here Claiborne read aloud the brief letter from 
Dandie, and then asked, — 

“How say ye, shall not this man' die the 
death V* 

There was an awful pause, — a silence wherein 
all cast their eyes adown, not lifting a voice for 
the prisoner. He, pale, bloody, and stricken with 
deep fear, saw from the looks of all there was no 
hope. He tried to commend his thoughts to God ; 
but the world, and the things of the world, kept 
crowding upon his brain, crushing out with their 
multitudinous images the holier thoughts he sought 
to stay and treasure. The awe of death was upon 
him, and the big sweat drops hung beaded on his 
brow, or trickling thence, mingled with the blood 
of his wound. 

“ Mercy, mercy,” he gasped, but seeing the icy 
sternness of Claiborne and the malignant smile of 
Ingle, he turned with an agonising appeal to the 
deputies, but these would not interfere. 

“Ho, there! what wait you fori” shouted 
Claiborne, “ Do your duty ; aye, and quickly too, 
for by the fiend I will not descend from this stand 
till he dies the death.” 

“ Hear me !” cried Rugly, with imploring ac- 
(jents, “ good people hear me. I will — I will con- 
fess. That man,” pointing to Ingle, “ is the cause 
of all this. He scoffed at, insulted, and struck me. 


I swore to be revenged, I was. I told the Go- 
vernor — I — ” 

“ Enough !” exclaimed Ingle, lowering fiercely ; 
“ he owns it, up with him my men !” 

“ Thou damned villain,’? shrieked Rugly, tear- 
I ing himself from his captors, and springing like an 
infuriated wolf full at the throat of Ingle, “If I die, 
you — ah !” > 

A piercing shriek escaped the lips of the 
doomed man. With an expression of intense 
agony he loosed his hold, and flinging his arms 
abroad, fell heavily upon the floor. 

“ The foolish knave has pricked himself with 
my dagger,” said Ingle coolly, withdrawing the 
weapon from the body of the Partisan, while as he 
did so, the wretched victim half sprang to his feet 
and glared horribly on all around ; but when he 
attempted to speak, the warm blood came gushing 
from his mouth and nostrils, and, staggering blind- 
ly forward, he fell upon his face dead. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

Forster experienced a sensation of positive re- 
lief, when he found himself removed from witness- 
ing the consummation of a tragedy, which he felt 
from the temper of those present would too cer- 
tainly take place. Daunton and Duke Oby having 
a morbid desire to be spectators of the execution, 
hurried their prisoner towards the guard house at 
no stinted speed ; and, after giving the sentinels on 
duty a few hasty directions as regarded the safety 
of his charge, retraced their steps to the scene they 
had so lately left. 

The edifice, dignified by the title of guard-house, 
was nothing more than an Indian hut, which, 
though constructed with rather more regard to 
strength than those around, would have offered, 
in itself, but a feeble resistance to the escape of 
a resolute man, had it not been for the strict watch 
that was constantly kept without. 

Assisted by the moonlight, which struggled 
through a small aperture on one side of the apart- 
ment, Forster’s eye swept with a single glance the 
place which was to be his prison, and that glance 
revealed to him he was net the only Inmate. To 
his no small astonishmant he found himself the 
companion of one'whom he had hitherto sedulously 
avoided ; and whose conduct, from the high posi- 
tion occupied in the Colony by his relatives, the 
right thinking Forster only considered the more 
highly reprehensible. 

This unexpected recognition of Cornwallis, and 
I in confinement, led the ardent Forster to doubt the 
traitorous intentions of his companion ; and, im- 
mediately conjecturing that probably the former 
had, like himself, been entrapped, his generous 
nature, as prompt to acknowledge a wrong as to 
condemn an evil, led him instantly to seek an ex- 
planation. 

“ I fear I have been laboring under a grievous 
error,” said he, advancing and holding out his 
hand, “ in mistaking you for an adherent of Clai- 
borne ; but the situation in which I find you, leads 
me to hope you have not taken part with him in 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


77 


this quarrel, as I was too prone to believe. Can 
you forgive me 1” 

“ I do forgive you, Forster,” replied Cornwallis, 
grasping his hand cordially. Wild and wayward 
as I have been, I have never yet harbored treason 
against the Colony. And though my own bad 
passions have brought me to this strait, I yet hope 
to redeem myself in the eyes of my family, and in 
the opinion of the good people of St. Mary’s. Sit 
you down beside me, my old time companion, and 
let me unburthen myself of what lies heavy on my 
heart.” 

And glad to obtain so favorable a hearer, Corn- 
wallis, with many compunctious visitings, re- 
counted the story of his voyage to Bermuda, and 
the supposed loss of his brother through the narra- 
tor’s ungovernable passion ; his return home ; his 
deceit to his father; his remorse, and the evil 
courses into which he threw himself to quench it ; 
his wild interview with Mary Branthwayte; his 
meeting with Ingle ; his arrival at camp, and his 
interview with Claiborne’s daughter. 

Forster listened to the narrative with breathless 
interest, and while he felt how much of the evil 
brought upon Cornwallis was the effect of his hot 
impetuous temper, the young soldier still argued 
from the unreserved communication which the lat- 
ter had just made, that he might yet become an 
ornament to the Colony, and the pride of his now 
sorrowing father. To Eustace Cornwallis, Forster 
had always been much attached ; and as he had 
grieved for his supposed death, so did he now 
sincerely rejoice to hear that he was yet alive. 
The barrier between gentleman and commoner, so 
zealously kept up in the mother country, had never 
existed in this new land where a community of 
danger had from the first prevented the growth of 
any such distinction. 

“ Are you sure it was Helen Claiborne herself, 
who informed you of your brother’s being alive, 
and in this place 1” 

“ I am certain it was none other, for I had met 
her before, though not alone. Why do you ask 1 
Think you she would mislead me with a false 
tale 1” 

“ Indeed I do not ; what she says, you may be- 
lieve as if ’twere holy writ. She would not speak 
untruly to save her father’s life. Innocence hath 
not a fairer votary, nor truth a purer.” 

“ Helen Claiborne thanks thee for thy good 
opinion,” said a low, musical voice from behind ; 
and the next instant the gentle speaker approached 
with a noiseless footstep, and stood between them. 

Seeing them about to utter an exclamation of 
surprise, she laid her finger upon her lips to impose 
silence, and then continued — 

“ Hush ! or speak low : this is no time for many 
words, for there is much to be done, and the mi- 
nutes are precious. Mr. Cornwallis as this indignity 
hath been put upon you, through an act of mine, 
it seemeth to me but proper I should make you all 
the reparation that lies in my power. My father 
is quick and passionate, though kind and noble- 
hearted to all who know him truly. His hasty 
feelings sometimes lead astray his better judgment, 
(for we are all human, and as such, there are none 
of us without human frailty,) and he will regret 


this ere long : wherefore I pray thee not to harbor 
unkindness towards him in this matter.” 

“ Madam,” said Cornwallis, “ Captain Claiborne 
hath in his daughter a fairer argument for forgive- 
ness than any he could advance in words. I would, 
for her sake, he was not arming against the almost 
defenceless colonists, and seeking, by unlawful 
means, to overturn the rightful jurisdiction of the 
Proprietary.” 

“ It is not for me to say,” she answered, meekly, 

“ whether my father be right or wrong. I know he 
hath suffered much', both in name and fortune. Yet 
though this be true, were my own wishes consulted, 
there should not be a hand lifted, or a sword 
drawn. He deemeth it his duty to do otherwise ; 
and though I may repine at his decision, I dare not 
gainsay it. But your imprisonment,” she added, 

“ toucheth me more nearly, and it is for this rea- 
son I am come to prepare you for your speedy re- 
lease.” 

“ Gentle Mistress Helen,” said Cornwallis, with 
a warmth and nobleness of feeling evidently spring- 
ing from the promptings of his better nature, “ I 
pray you to believe me, when I say how sensible I 
am of your intended kindness ; but this act would 
be preganant with danger to yourself, and rather 
than you should incur your father’s anger, it is 
better I should remain here, and take such chance 
as may befall.” 

“ You misjudge my father,” she replied, quickly. 

“ He is hasty, but not unkind. But no more of 
this ; the preparations are already made for your 
departure — and — and — there is one who will ac- 
company yon, to whom your assistance will be 
most needful, for he is worn with much sickness ; 
though 1 trust your presence, and the return to his 
own home after so long an absence, will tend to 
promote his speedy restoration.” 

“ Eustace ! my brother ! Alas ! and is he then 
so ill 1” inquired Cornwallis, with eager anxiety. 

“We must hope for the best,” she answered, 
evasively. “ A litter hath been constructed by my 
directions ; and a few Indians, under the conduct 
of one whom I can trust, will assist in his convey- 
ance to St. Mary’s. Perhaps you, also. Master 
Forster, would bestow upon us your services.” 

“ A greater pleasure could not be imposed upon 
me. Madam,” replied the young soldier. “ I should 
have felt grateful to you in selecting me for the 
performance of such a duty, even though it had 
not been coupled with the prospect of a speedier 
release than I could otherwise have expected.” 

“ Be it so, then,” said she. “ An hour before 
dawn I will be here ; until which time, it were bet- 
ter you should seek some repose, for the way is 
long, and it may require all the alertness you pos- 
sess, to bafile those who will be sent after you.” 

“ Were it not better we should start at once?” 
suggested Forster. “By this means, and under 
cover of the darkness, we might hope more easily 
to ” 

“ I know what you would say,” she replied, 
calmly. “ It were, indeed, to be preferred ; but the 
young chief, of whose good faith I am alone assured, 
cannot be ready until the time appointed.” 

“ But if he should not fulfil his word 1” said 
Cornwallis. 

For that I will be his warrant. 'Opachiko haa 


78 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


promised, and I know he will not fail me,” was the 
maiden’s confident reply. So saying, and after 
recommending them to snatch a brief interval of 
sleep, she shaded her lamp with her hand, and si- 
lently left the prison. It was long after the de- 
parture of Helen Claiborne, before Cornwallis sunk 
into that sweet state ef forgetfulness which so soon 
closed the eyelids of his companion. The stirring 
events of the last few days brought to him now, 
while in darkness and comparative solitude, a crowt 
of teeming fancies ; keeping his brain busy, and his 
imagination on a continual stretch. When he 
thought of his sick brother, and the deception of 
which he had been guilty, shame almost overpow- 
ered him. “ Alas !” thought he, “ how much hap- 
pier I should have been, had I told the simple 
truth — had I borne, uncomplainingly, my father’s 
reproaches, and sought, by zealous and dutiful at- 
tentions, to have won back his regard. Coward 
that I was, to fabricate a lie ; a sin which hath been 
a far greater burthen and remorse, than any pun- 
ishment the world could have inflicted. And now 
comes exposure ; and men will mock, and mow, 
and point at me. They shall not,” he added, with 
a burning flush ; “ I will prove to them I am not 
the worthless thing they deem me. I will cast off 
this slough, and arise regenerated ; and even thou, 
Mary Branthwayte, thou who hast been the very 
idol of my dreams — thou shalt yet learn to respect 
me, even though thou hast no longer love to give.” 

Uneasily, and with such mingled reflections, the 
young man tossed to and fro ; but gradually, as 
better resolves encouraged hope in his breast, his 
mind grew calmer, and sleep insensibly threw her 
mantle over him. 

But no sleep that night visited the eyes of Helen 
Claiborne. Impelled by a strong sense of duty, 
she had, for the first time, interfered with her fa- 
ther’s plans ; and in so doing, she felt depressed 
and dispirited. The conversation held between 
them, on the return of Claiborne from his journey, 
had left upon her mind the painful impression that 
her father’s ambition aimed at greater things than 
the mere retention of Kent Island. His subsequent 
movements soon convinced her that this conjecture 
was but too well founded. 

Sorely, indeed, was her pure, young heart tried, 
as her father’s character more clearly developed 
itself. The broken hints of other days — his moody 
and rapt manner — his long absences — all now link- 
ed together to prove, that even when she thought 
him most persecuted, he was engaged in furthering 
his rebellious and lawless designs. And yet, she 
loved him. 

Of Ingle she had already learned sufficient to 
cause her to look upon the reckless Seaman, not 
only with fear, but with absolute abhorence; and, 
clinging to her father as she still did, she trembled 
for the consequences of the league between them. 
That Ingle had some evil object in retaining the 
younger Cornwallis a prisoner, she did not doubt ; 
and interested as she became, in the forlorn and 
helpless condition of her patient, she determined to 
avert the evil, if possible, by aiding in his timely 
removal from the scene of danger. 

As if to favor her project, the young man had 
been enabled, through the day, to walk about his 
place of confinement, though — yielding for the 


I most part of the time to the wise admonitions of 
! his fair nurse — he husbanded his strength as much 
I as possible, so as to enable him to bear, with more 
security, the fatigue of the proposed journey. 

Helen Claiborne’s heart beat more rapidly as the 
appointed hour drew near, and, when at length the 
arrival of Opachiko gave earnest that her patient 
was in reality to leave her, she almost regretted the 
step she had taken ; but the moment she looked at 
his pale face, and heard his eager exclamation of 
delight, her heart smote her that she had been so 
selfish, and in the overflowing of her affection, she 
forgot her maidenly reserve, and flinging herself 
upon his breast, burst into a passionate flood of 
tears. 

“ Dear Helen,” said the invalid, “ many and 
many an hour have I lain stretched on my couch, 
longing and dreaming of home, but now when the 
opportunity has come of fulfilling the hope I so 
dearly cherished I have lost the desire to accept it, 
unless, indeed, I could induce my ever kind nurse 
to accompany me.” 

Helen looked up in his face with an expression 
of unspeakable tenderness, and then shaking her 
head sadly, she replied — 

“ Accompany thee ! Oh, Eustace, I would it 
were permitted, but this cannot be.” 

“ True, true,” he responded mornfully, “ life with 
me has but a few brief summer days to run, and 
why shall I seek to bring this sorrow upon you, 
when you may wed some other who, with health 
and strength before him, would be the pride and 
happiness of your years of beauty, and the staff of 
your declining agel” 

“It is not that,” she answered quickly ; “Ah! 
believe me, it is not that. One week with thee 
were more than a lifetime with any other ; but there 
is a gulf betwixt us which neither could over-leap 
without reproach. You are the son of a high born 
gentleman, and Ian outlaw’s daughter ; and while 
this bitter enmity exists between our parents, we 
must obey their commands, even though they bring 
pain unto ourselves.” 

“ But my father, dear Helen, though opposed in 
principle to Captain Claiborne, is of too generous 
a nature even to extend his dislike to you, who 
have been more than the preserver and friend of his 
son.” 

“ Tempt me not, Eustace, you do not know how 
much the struggle has already cost me, or you 
would not, I know you would not, seek to add to 
the difficulties of a victory which must be won.” 

“ Helen,” said the young man, in reproachful ac- 
cents, “ you must have some strong motive to in- 
duce you to act so much at variance with your 
avowed feelings.” 

“ I have,” she replied, calmly. “ The duty which 
a daughter owes to her only surviving parent— that 
parent, whatever be his faults, loves me tenderly, 
and surrounded as he now is on the one side by 
enemies, and on the other by dubious friends — men 
who serve him, but care not one jot for his welfare 
further than it will tend to their own advancement 
— it were a crime in me to desert him when he is 
most in need of all my succour and support.” 

“Helen, hear me!” he exclaimed, passionately, 

“ the little life, which, from a spark you have al- 
most fanned into a flame, may yet burn brightly for 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


79 


a season, under your fostering care. Wanting that, 
it recks but little how soon the green sod covers 
me. l^et us then depart from this place together. 
Your father’s movements you can neither avert nor 
benefit. If he succeeds in his project, he will re- 
ceive you with open arms. If he fails, the loving 
solicitude you have already shown for my welfare, 
joined to your known purity and uprightness, will 
so win upon the gratitude of my immediate family, 
and the admiration of those who are allied to us by 
blood or friendship, as to enable you to become an 
efficient mediatrix between your father and such as 
would sternly, but conscicntiovsly seek to enforce 
the full power of those laws which they desire to 
see sustained. As my bride there will bo a home 
for you, let what will befall ; and a happy home 
I need not say it shall be if my devotion can make 
it so.” 

“ I have no doubt of that. My heart tells me it 
were a dream to be realized. Alas, that it must be 
a dream only !” 

“Ah, say not so!” he responded, with passion- 
ate tenderness. “We will' go together to St. 
Mary’s, and weakling as I am, I may yet grow 
strong under your fostering guidance ; and for all 
this loving kindness, I will bestow upon you a 
heart as overflowing with deep and earnest affection 
as ever beat in a human bosom.” 

“ Oh, Eustace,” said the maiden, bursting into 
tears, “ why — why will you try me thus I Already 
thou knowest too well it may not be.” 

“Helen! Helen!” he exclaimed bitterly. “If 
you loved me as I have vainly believed, you would 
not hesitate in the choice of your path.” 

A pang of the most exquisite anguish shot 
through the breast of the maiden, and cast a mo- 
mentary expression of deep pain over her usually 
calm, pale countenance; but it soon passed away, 
and she answered in a tone of such mournful sad- 
ness, that her lover hitteily repented the injustice of 
his reproach — 

“There are those who can love deeply — once — 
once only, and forever. A strong controling power 
may keep down that love, but though it be con- 
strained, it lives still, consuming the very life which 
sustains it. Time is nothing — distance is nothing 
— for the absorbing passion overleaps both. Haply 
the heart will break in the struggle, as well indeed 
it may when the spirit becomes too strong for its 
tabernacle; for while a pulse beats, love will strug- 
gle for the mastery, and in the last feeble prayer for 
the soul’s safety, will be mingled a blessing for the 
happiness of the loved one.” 

Eustace, much affected, took the unresisting hand 
of the devoted maiden, and pressing it to his lips, 
said, tenderly — 

“ I pray Heaven, dear Helen, the words you 
have just spoken may not be a prophetic foresha- 
dowing of our fate. Let us trust hopefully, that 
these difficulties which now obstruct our path may 
at some early day be removed. The crisis already 
approaches, and after dense darkness often comes 
the brighter day. We may at least hope this. 

It is a fearful hope, yet there is joy in it— but 
oh, Eustace, be not too sanguine! we — ”a light 
knock against the wall without startled the fair girl 
in the midst of her speech. She faltered— turned 


pale— and tottering, would have fallen, had she not 
grasped a rudely fashioned chair as a support. 

“ Helen, dear Helen, what is it ? Why are you 
so moved V’ inquired the invalid, tottering feebly to 
her side. 

“Nothing — nothing,” said she, brokenly; but 
rallying— 

“ Opachiko !” and she murmured in an under 
tone, which, however, caught the quick ear of 
Cornw'allis — “so soon, and yet so late,” 

“ Ha !” said he, rightly interpreting her meaning. 
“ It is so ? — Then here will I make my home. I 
will not go.” 

“ Nay, thou must ; thy brother waits for thee. I 
have given my promise — perchance his life might be 
jeopardized. Go, then, at once; why tarry in the 
abode of sorrow 1 Here is but one to welcome 
thee ; in St. Mary’s many will be gladdened by 
thy coming. \ Think of thy father; he hath 
mourned thee long. Go — go — for my sake go — and 
for thine own.” 

She hastily separated a braid of dark hair from 
amid her tresses, and then added slowly, and with 
a sad, difficult utterance, 

“ Take this, and — and sometimes give a thought 
to thy young nurse in the wilderness ; who — 
who — ” she could say no more, but bursting into 
uncontrolable weeping, hid her face in her hands, 
and sobbed aloud. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

The fugitives were already some hours on their 
way, before Claiborne, accompanied by Ingle and 
the deputies, made his a/)pearance among his fol- 
lowers. The day was lowering and gusty, and its 
character seemed stamped upon all who were in 
the camp. Instead of the martial preparation which 
distinguished the previous evening, the men were 
gathered in groups, speaking earnestly with one 
another; and from their features, and the occa- 
sional pointing to the rude structure which was the 
prison, it was evident the escape of its former in- 
mates had become known. But though they 
doubtless felt the urgency of the case admitted of 
no delay, in the event of any attempt being made 
at recapture, none were found hardy enough to 
brave the first outbreaking of wrath in their leader. 
It was consequently a matter of relief to many of 
them to find Claiborne accompanied by others, 
whose presence might break the force of the explo- 
sion. The quick eye of the leader instantly de- 
tected that something had gone wrong. 

“What is all thisl” he exclaimed. “Is this a 
time to be idle 1 Why dost stand there, Oby 1 
Ha! what is it, man? — speak out; thou art not 
wont to be so backward of tongue.” 

Oby shifted his w'eight uneasily from one foot to 
the other, coughed, hemmtd, stammered, and at 
length muttered something, the only intelligible 
part of which was, that the cage was empty and 
the birds flown. 

“Ha!” exclaimed Claiborne, a storm gathering 
about his grey, shaggy eyebrows ; “ when were they 
missed 1” 


80 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


“ About break of day. They seemed to be asleep 
when the last watch was changed.” 

“ Whose watch!” said the leader, fiercely, seeing 
Oby shrink from mentioning any name. “ Whose 
watch, I say 1” 

“ Long Gib’s.” 

“ Bring him here ! — Ingle, see thou to it ! — Gen- 
tlemen, treachery is among us ; the man must be 
punished instantly, as an example to others.” 

The deputies turned pale, and would have with- 
drawn. The scene of the preceding night was still 
fresh in their memory. 

“Nay, sirs,” continued Claiborne, as he observed 
the movement, “ I pray you remain ; this is a mat- 
ter which nearly concerneth all of us, and I were 
unworthy of your confidence, did I not promptly 
meet such emergencies. — Ho ! knave,” he added, 
as Gib was brought before him, under a strong 
guard — “Ho! knave, where are thy prisoners! 
The truth instantly ; and take heed you falter not, 
for your life hangs upon a thread.” 

Gib looked bewildered ; the loss of his prisoners 
did not affect him so much as their disappearance 
without his knowledge; and it was the implied 
lack of vigilance on his part which made him feel 
awkward and ashamed. 

Claiborne marked his hesitating manner, and 
construing it into a proof of guilt burst out with — 

“ Dog of a traitor, where are your prisoners 1” 

“ Don’t know — good watch kept — night cloudy 
— black — could’nt see.” 

' “ Liar and traitor ! they bribed thee ; and by holy 

Paul, thou shalt die. Ho ! there 1 half a score of 
harquebuss men — let him be taken to the bank side 
in the dell yonder. Ingle, to thee I commit him ; 
three minutes for prayer, and no more. Keintre, 
saddle a score or so of your best troopers, and scour 
the forest in every direction ; bring them to me, 
dead or alive. If scouting parties from St. Mary’s 
are met with hold them at bay ; I will join thee, 
with the remainder of our force, ere long.” 

Then seeing the men who held the unfortunate 
Gib still remaining, he exclaimed, with vehe- 
mence, — 

“ Why stir ye not, knaves, ha 1 away with 
him.” 

“ Captain Claiborne,” said the boy Dickon, burst- 
ing through the throng — “Gib is no traitor ; you 
don’t know Gib ; so please you, I do ; Gib is a 
good man, and a true man, and no traitor.” 

“No use, Dickon — little Dickon,” said Gib 
quietly; “mad man do mad thing — say nothing, 
boy. Guns fire, great noise — little pain, all over. 
Don’t cry, Dickon.” 

“ Peradventure ! a-hem ! peradventure. Captain 
Claiborne, a-hem ! that is,” began the Puritan 
White, but catching the expression of Claiborne’s 
face he fell back suddenly, and turning very pale, 
said never another word. 

But suddenly a movement in the crowd at- 
tracted Claiborne’s attention. He saw the mass 
gradually yield, and as it parted asunder Helen 
Claiborne, his beloved daughter, in her pale, calm, 
earnest beauty, stood before him. 

“Helen!” he exclaimed angrily — “this is no 
place for thee ! away girl, and quickly. Mistress 
Margaret must answer to me for this neglect. I 
will no more suffer disobedience in mine own house- 


I hold than in the camp where I command. Go, 
child ! and fail not to repeat to her what I have 
said.” 

“ Nay, she is not to blame — for she sought to 
prevent my coming ; on me alone, therefore, must 
thine anger fall. I heard that the life of a man 
was in jeopardy, and, disregarding her wishes, and 
thy commands, have hastened hither to save him. 
Father, that man must not die.” 

“ By heaven!” said Claiborne, turning passion- 
ately to his companion, Ingle — “ this looks almost 
like a general conspiracy ; even my daughter is 
leagued against me.” 

“ There is more here than lies upon the surface,” 
answered the Seaman moodily, for the suspicious 
mind of the latter instantly linked together the 
present appearance of Helen, her known interview 
with Arthur Cornwallis, and his recent escape ; 
and thence drew conclusions, to which faith in his 
daughter’s fidelity had altogether blinded the usu- 
ally acute leader. 

“ How ! what mean you, Ingle !” inquired Clai- 
borne sharply. “ More than lies upon the surface 1 
Out with it, man, speak plainly.” 

“ When the wind lulls, eh, mistress!” replied 
the Seaman, bending, as he spoke, his dark keen 
eyes upon the face of the maiden, who, shuddering 
at his bold, lascivious gaze, suflTered her head to 
droop, and folding her hands meekly, but trem- 
blingly, across her breast, returned no answer. 

“ Truly, a — a personable wench — pale — very 
pale, and yet, most comely,” muttered Holdfast, to 
the fat deputy. 

“ Yea, verily, I marvel much at her exceeding 
beauty. I know not one among the sisters of the 
Lord’s chosen people, who can compare with her. 
A forest Ruth, whom it were a good thing to pre- 
vail upon to leave the tents of these Moabites, and 
become an indweller among the brethren of New 
Providence.” 

“ Ingle, what is this !” asked Claiborne, with 
greater vehemence. “ Whence this mystery ! 
Why dost thou gaze at my daughter ! Ha !” 

“ A cat may look at a king, I take it,” answered 
the Mariner, curtly, but seeing the brow of Claiborne 
grow black as midnight, he laughed, and said — 

“ We children of the wave, Claiborne, behold so 
little of woman’s beauty, that it is light wonder we 
should gaze somewhat irreverently, when it comes 
before us in the likeness of an angel. 

“But! — but, my daughter — I — ” 

“ Tut, man, we are not stocks and stones.” 

“ Depart, Helen ! Do as thou art bidden, girl. 
Hearest thou ! Why do yeu linger ; l am not wont 
to speak twice!” 

“ But this man ! Oh, release him, or take time 
for judgment. He is much beloved here by the 
people, and is bound to them by ties that leave him 
no interest in wrong doing. Pause, then, I entreat 
thee, in thy purpose. How knowest thou he 
may not be guiltless, and blood once spilled can 
never be gathered up;— the lamp of life, once 
quenched, can never be relumed. Pardon him, oh, 
my father ; if not by thine own will, yet for my 
sake.” 

“ For thy sake, girl,” said Claiborne, with a quick 
glance of distrust. “ For thy sake, dost thou say ! 
What is he to thee ! A low hind. Ha !” 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


81 


“ The life of the meanest of God’s creatures, if 
it be taken wrongfully, will lie ever like a ponderous 
weight upon the conscience of his judge. In the 
great day, there will be no distinction made between 
the acts of those who slept upon the embroidery of 
the grass, or the higher born, whose couch was 
canopied with purple and fine gold.” 

“ Of these things have thou no care. Ingle, lead 
her hence, this place becomes her not.” 

With a gallant inclination, the Seaman advanced, 
but the maiden turned coldly from him, and, ap- 
' preaching more closely her father, clasped tremu- 
lously, with both hands, his arm. 

“ Father ! hear me ; let that man go free. He 
is innocent, ask me not why I know it, but set him 
free. Thou wouldst not stain thy soul with mur- 
der, I know thou W’ouldst not, yet such indeed 
would be thy crime. Ask me no further, but bid 
those men release him and let him go in peace.” 

“ Helen !” exclaimed Claiborne, a dreadful sus- 
picion of the truth crossing his mind, “ I will know 
the meaning of all this.” 

“ Thou shalt, thou shalt, but — but not now.” 

“ Helen ! my daughter,” he laid his hand upon 
her shoulder and looked from under his grey eye- 
brows full upon her face. “ Vhou ! the nestling 
of my heart — thou surely hast not done this thing — 
thou hast not betrayed me !” 

She clasped her hands tightly together, and as 
the usual placid serenity of her features was dis- 
turbed by the agony of spirit that worked beneath, 
she murmured, — 

“ Betray thee ! betray my father ; a child betray 
her father ; I whose nightly prayers are for his 
safety, whose daily thoughts are for his welfare, — I 
who have sacrificed even my — no — no — but not 
here, not here ; come with me and thou shalt know 
all-all.” ^ 

Timidly she led the way through the wondering 
crowd, and after brief instructions to respite the 
doom of the prisoner until his farther pleasure 
should be known, with a sickening sensation at his 
heart, like the foreshadowing of some mighty cal- 
amity, Claiborne followed slowly and gloomily in 
her footsteps. 

No sooner had they reached the hut and were 
secured from all interruption, than Helen faltered 
towards her parent and sinking on one knee, uttered 
the one word — 

“ Pardon.” 

The strong man was humbled to the dust, and 
in the bitterness of his spirit he exclaimed — 

“Oh well! was it thoul” and she answered, 
weeping — 

“ It was I.” 

To and fro, to and fro for a long time did Clai- 
borne pace that room, until at length the long-pent 
agony gave vent in broken and despairing words, 

“ Who, who would be a father ! Take heed, oh 
parents, ye sow in smiles, ye reap in tears. Ye 
build for long, long years, and a blast destroys. 
Ye garner and ’tis wasted. The tree ye tend so 
well, and water, and nurse, and cherish, look ye to 
the fruit ! It may be fair and tempting to look 
upon, but within ’tis ashes. I have borne wrong 
and contumely ; I have suffered in name, fame and 
fortune, — not meekly perhaps, for such was not my 


ous misadventures. Bending my strong spirit to 
a stronger will, I have sued like a beggar asking 
alms ; aye, like the veriest beggar have I sued to 
the false and fickle king, craving the restoration 
of what was mine own ; and to his worthless 
ministers I have played the humble bedesman, the 
fawning parasite, and all — all for her; and now — 
now in the very spring-time of my hopes, with all 
the honors just budding for which I have toiled ; 
she for whom I have dared and toiled ; she whom 
I have worshipped with more than a father’s idola- 
try, leagues with mine enemies to crush me.” 

“ No, no, not to crush — to save and bless thee.” 

“ Peace, minion ; hast thou not freed those I held 
in bond ] Bear they not tidings of Claiborne, and 
of Claiborne’s camp ? Know they not that some 
days must pass before my forces can be collected, 
and thinkest thou he of St. Mary’s is so much a 
sluggard, as to lie idle when these tales are thun- 
dered in his ear 1 VV hat, then, follows 1 We shall 
be hunted — hunted to our fastnesses. Scattered 
and broken, our numbers will melt away ; and I — 
thy father, driven like a wild beast to his lair, die, 
pierced with the weapons of the hunters.” 

“ Father,” replied the maiden, sadly, but calmly, 
“ hear me, before you judge. Some months ago, 
just before you left me for that expedition to Kent 
Island and Jamestown, from which you have so 
lately returned, there w'as brought to our secluded 
cottage a sick gentleman. You bade me intreat 
him kindly during your absence, and see that he 
lacked nothing we could bestow. The command I 
faithfully fulfilled; and yet, our earnest endeavor 
to restore him to health, seemed to avail nothing. 
Home, home, was ever on his lips ; and my heart 
bled to hear him yearn so much for his kindred, 
and so hopelessly ; for I deemed his home w'as 
somewhere remote, in the dear, green lanes of that 
dear England, whose quiet shades we have sadly 
exchanged for this forest wilderness, and I pitied 
him very much. But, when I learned he was of 
St. Mary’s, and his name Cornwallis, a prisoner, 
basely secreted by that bad man, Ingle, whereby his 
health had suffered much. I thought of those who 
mourned him dead ; and hearing that, like me, he 
had a father who loved him tenderly, I was moved 
to restore him to those from whom he had been 
spirited away. His brother came to the camp — 
had it been willingly, I should have said naught — . 
but finding he, too, had been ensnared, I resolved 
to speak with him. I did so. He was imprisoned, 
I released him, that his strength might support, in 
their flight, his brother’s weakness ; this I did of 
mine own accord, and on me, alone, must fall the 
penalty of the deed.” 

“ Misguided girl, in performing an act of what 
you misdeemed justice, thou hast jeopardied the 
lives of me and my followers. Helen Claiborne, 
when the safety of a father weighs so little in the 
balance of thy judgment, there must be deeper 
feelings at work than a simple and severe love of 
right.” 

“ What deeper feelings could there be 1” she 
answered, with a deep crimson flush. “ He is gone, 
and I — I am here.” 

“Ha! beware! I see it now; thou hast dared 
to love the son of thy father’s foe. He hath spoken 
thee with a low, wily serpent tongue, and be- 


nature. I have endured hardships and many peril- 


to 


82 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


gniled thee to thine own undoing — lulling thee into 1 1 am no villainous lackey to wait meekly in a lordly 
a dreamy false security, while his heart was never | ante room ; and it tallies with rny humor still less, 
in his words; and if it was, what would it reck 1 [ to be kept on the wrong side of such a place as this, 
I'hat proud father would think it foul scorn of any when a thrust of the foot, or push of the shoulder, 
alliance with an outlaw’s daughter, and William swould give a man entrance, without saying by your 


(Maiborne, contemned and despised as he may be, 
would rather see that daughter in her grave, than 
become the wife ef one akin to his most inveterate 
enemy.” 

“ Father,” replied she, much distressed ; “what- 
ever my own feelings may be — however wrong it 
may appear unto thee I have acted, there hath been 
never a word spoken, or a thought, or an action 
unworthy my honor, or thy affection. Wherever 
thou art, there shalt thou find me by thy side. If 
adversity be thy lot, I will share it with thee. If a 
sunnier existence brighten the storms of the past, 
thy gladness shall be my content, and in that con- 
tent will I find my reward.” 

Claiborne was deeply moved ; this beautiful de- 
votedness touched him nearly to tears — the ambi- 
tion of the man was forgotten, for the moment, in 
the love of the father ; he turned to Helen, and 
gently parting the masses of dark hair, bent down, 
and kissed tenderly her high, pale forehead. 

“ Thou art a strange girl, Nell,” said he, with a 
melancholy smile ; “ and yet I think thou lovest me.” 

“ Love thee !” she exclaimed. “ God knows my 
heart I do.” And with a cry of joy she fiung her- 
self into his arms, and hid her face upon his breast. 

A few more words of endearment, and the recon- 
ciliation was complete ; when a knocking without 
aroused Claiborne to the sterner realities of his 
station. 

“ There, Nell, kiss me once more, and get thee 
away ; that noise tells me I have duties to perform, 
which may not be delayed. No more, but go at 
once.” 

When she had departed, Claiborne fiung himself 
into a seat, and buried his face in his hands. His 
heart had been softened for a moment by the words 
of his child, and the milder affections of the parent 
were still wrestling successfully with the ambition 
of the aspiring leader ; and, though absent, the sweet 
rainbow influence of his daughter shone faintly 
beautiful through the storm of his perturbed feelings. 
The image of his wife, whom he had tenderly loved, 
rose in mild reproachfulness before him. She 
seemed to ask him why he had forsaken the calm 
happiness of the olden time, for a wandering and a 
turbulent life — the quiet seclusion of a pleasant 
home, for strife and bloodshed. And then he 
thought of Helen, who looked so like her mother; 
and how he had exposed her to the gaze of loose 
livers and ruffians, and the hardships of an uncer- 
tain destiny. He thought of her transparent purity, 
and the many trials and privations she had under- 
gone for his sake — trials not only sustained with 
cheerfulness, but with a simple piety that surround- 
ed her, as by a citadel, against the multitude of 
warring passions by which she was encompassed. 
But a shar[)er knocking without broke in upon his 
reverie, and with a deep sigh for the past, he arose 
slowly, and thrusting aside the fastening, admitted 
the disturber. 

“ By the deep sea,” said Ingle, striding angrily 
■ into the room, “ you mistake me much, Claiborne, 
if you think I will dance attendance upon any man. 


leave to any one.” 

“ And now you are here, what would you 1” 
asked Claiborne, somewhat haughtily, stung by the 
rough salutation of the Seaman. 

“ They tell me the sick Cornwallis has also been 
freed,” said Ingle, abruptly. “ As he was rriy pri- 
soner, held in bond for mine owm ends, I demand 
of you this man, this Gib, that he may pay the 
penalty of his treachery.” 

“ Ingle, my friend, no more of this — another 
time. I—. ” 

“ Oh you may leave me to deal with him ; my 
bull dogs never let go where they have once fasten- 
ed iheir hold.” 

“I — I have promised he shall be pardoned this 
offence, in consideration of past services; and, you 
know, Ingle, I cannot recall my word.” 

“ Past services ! Pardon !” repeated the Seaman, 
scornfully. “You have a crooked manner of ad- 
ministering justice, Claiborne. Last night you 
would have hung a traitor without remorse, and 
this morning you pardon another traitor for doing 
that which the first left undone.” 

“ I believe, sir, I command here,” said Claiborne, 
coldly. 

“ Others, but not me,” replied the Seaman, ab- 
ruptly; “ and as you have thought proper to inter- 
fere in a matter that cencerned me nearly, I can 
only consider it a violation of our compact, and 
hereafter fight my own battles, and avenge my own 
wrongs, in the manner which best suits my incli- 
nation.” 

Nay, but Ingle, surely ” 

“ Oh ! I know where the wu'nd sits, without a 
w^eather vane ! This man is guiltless; had he not 
been so, a short shrift and a quick death would 
have been his portion. But what would be a trai- 
torous act in a poor devil like him, is, when done 
by one’s own daughter, a thing of light moment — 
a trivial affair, to be passed over with a kiss and a 
chiding — ‘ Fie, how couldst thoul’ Humph, it is 
the way of the world. Your sleek, high-born gen- 
tleman shall swagger, and bully, and drink, and 
yet be honorable withal ; for it is his birthright pri- 
vilege. By his cunning in divers games of chance 
he shall strip a foolish commoner of his last gold 
piece, and then turn him adrift to beg, or steal, or 
starve — yet is your gentleman still honorable. He 
shall pick a quarrel with his dearest friend, and 
then, with a rare courtesy, run him through the 
body, and yet be most honorable; while the poor 
poverty-stricken wretch, who, from a miserable 
hovel, pounces upon wherewithal to satisfy his 
hunger, is a thief, a villain, and an outcast; and 
for him is the prison built, and the chains forged, 
and the gibbet reared ; while the titled scoundrel 
lolls in luxurious ease in his gilded saloon, and with 
a witty pleasantry laughs at the meshes of the law, 
as his dexterous hand fleeces his neighbor in repu- 
table safety. So with you, Claiborne ; for wbat 
the petty knave deserved the knife, the bullet, or 
the cord, thy daughter hath doubtless won a gene- 
rous commendation.” 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


83 


“ Rail on, sweet moralist,” said Claiborne, with 
sarcastic politeness. “ He who exercises the virtues 
m so severe and rigid a manner as Captain Ingle, 
hath a just right to denounce vice in all its forms. 

I pray you proceed, the discourse is becoming in- 
teresting ; the more so from the known character 
of the speaker — than whom, indeed, surely no one 
IS better qualified to discriminate between good and 
evil.” 

“ I keep my own path,” retorted the Seaman, 
fiercely, “ in spite of storm or tempest, arid reck 
not the shelter of by-ways and dark nooks, to hide 
me from mine enemy. On the broad ocean, who 
seeks me finds me. On my flag at the mast-head 
is my calling displayed; and he who likes it not, 
may strike it, if he can.” 

“ A noble trade, and a daring,” replied Claiborne, 
with cutting irony. “ To lie in wait for the poor 
defenceless barque, despoil her of her stores, and 
leave her decks incarnadined with the blood of un- 
resisting men and timid boys — sharks gorging 
sharks. To prowl along the coast, and ravage, 
with fire and sword, the hacienda of the Spaniard, 
and the hut of the Indian. To lay sacriligious hands 
upon the priest in the vestments of his holy office, 
and the vessels of silver and gold that adorn the 
altar of the living God. Chalice and pix — censer 
and crucifix — what are these to thee but as spoils 
laid up for the grasping of the strong hand — the 
gladdening of a remorseless heart 1 The damsel 
falters, and turns pale, when she sees ye from afar ; 
and the old man breathes an ave, as your shadows 
darken his presence. Truly, thine is a glorious 
calling!” ' 

“ Take heed, Claiborne !” exclaimed the Seaman, 
with a bitter oath. “We answer sharp words with 
sharper weapons.” 

“ Bah ! You dare not, when the play is against 
you. It is the weakling and the timid only who 
fear you. Stouter hearts laugh your threats to 
scorn !” 

“ Stand fast, then !” shouted Ingle, furiously ; 
and drawing his sword, he made a sudden lunge at 
his adversary ; but Claiborne was as quick as his 
foeman, and far more cool. Scarcely were the 
blades crossed, before that of the Seaman, by a dex- 
terous turn of the wrist, was wrenched from his 
grasp, and sent spinning to the other side of the 
room. 

So unexpected was this result to Ingle, that all 
his self-command was lost ; he foamed at the mouth, 
and as his dark keen eyes flashed a murderous de- 
fiance, he gripped his dagger convulsively between 
his fingers, and prepared himself for a spring at the 
throat of his foiler. 

“ Down with your dagger ! Down with it, I 
say ! or I will cleave you to the brisket,” said Clai- 
borne, with that cool tone of conscious superiority, 
which, in times of damzer, evinces the commanding 
nature of some mind.s over others. “ Rash man, 
the most skilful fencer of Italy, if possessed by thy 
whirlwind of passion, a child might overcome.” 

All the worst feelings of the Mariner’s bad nature 
were now aroused. He glared at the bold scofli^r, 
by whom he had been defeated, with a dark, set 
brow, clenched teeth, and a half smile of the most 
fiendish malignancy ; but the high, calm glance of 
Claiborne quailed not ; nay, there was even some- 


thing very like contempt expressed in the slight 
curl of his upper lip, and, as a lesser light is lost in 
a greater, Ingle felt the might of Claiborne was 
superior to his own,’ and slowly and sullenly suc- 
cumbed. 

“From this time,” said he, lifting his sword from 
the ground, and thrusting it suddenly, and with 
emphasis, into its scabbard. “ I'rora this time there 
is war between us ; and once avenged on yon up- 
start at St. Mary’s, then, Claiborne, look to your- 
self: I never forget.” 

“ Pray you remember — and to make sure, write 
it in thy tablets thus : ‘On such a day I met with 
William Claiborne — words passed — I drew on him, 
and was defeated. I would have stabbed him with 
my dagger, but dared not.’ Then underneath this 
add as a comment — ‘ Twere safer to cross ten 
Spaniards, than one William Claiborne.’ ” 

A look of deadly hatred was the Mariner’s only 
reply. He had met with his superior, if not in 
brute courage, at least in that cool daring, which is 
more than a match for it. 'J’his Ingle felt : and 
looking forward to the day when his cunning might 
overleap the other’s prudence, he resolved to bide 
his time. Revolving these thoughts in his mind, 
he stood, for some few seednds, calculating his 
chances for revenge ; and, at length, having adopted 
the course he intended pursuing, he came slowly 
forward, with a sort of blunt honesty, and extending 
his hand to Claiborne, .said — 

“ There is too strong a tempest about us now to 
allow of our keeping company without danger of 
falling foul of each other. Let us separate. Steer 
your craft as you will, and I’ll steer mine. I am 
bound at once for St. Mary’s — you are for the same 
haven. It may be, that my movements may make 
success to you a matter of little difficulty; if so, 
we shall then meet again. Whether as friends or 
foes, will depend upon yourself.” 

Claiborne was not deceived ; yet he grasped the 
other’s hand with a manly frankness, as he re- 
plied — 

“ If with me as thou sayest, of this be assured — 
there is no man in these wilds for whose friendship 
I would sacrifice so much as for that of Captain 
Ingle.” 

And thus these exquisite dissemblers parted — 
each with a show of the blandest courtesy, and each 
in the full belief of the other’s enmity : like actors 
who embrace upon the stage, but the first auspicious 
opportunity quarrel at the wings. 

For ten or fifteen minutes after the departure of 
Ingle, Claiborne remained buried in profound 
thought. The secession of his former co-mate af- 
fected him but little. On viewing it in all its as- 
pects, he even found it a matter of gratulation. — 
Had Ingle remained, his headstrong nature might 
possibly have carried him into excesses which the 
more cautious and politic Claiborne would have 
deplored, without being able to prevent. As it was, 
if the Seaman succeeded in his design upon the 
Governor, the Colony would be filled with confusion 
and dismay, and fall an easy prey into the hands 
of the rebel leader. If failure waited on the Mari- 
ner’s rashness, there would be one enemy or a du- 
bious friend the less. And as Claiborne thought 
over these things, he said to himself — “It is better 
as it is and then, having formed his plan of ope- 


84 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


rations, he was about to issue forth, when Duke 
Oby made bis appearance. 

“ Well met, Oby,” said he; “say to Master 
Holdfast and his friend I would speak with them.” 

“ Master Holdfast and — and the stout man — he 
with the steeple hat and band I” inquired Oby, 
opening his eyes wide with astonishment. 

“ The same. Why do you stare at me I Tarry 
not, but go at once.” 

“ I would, sir, but — but — they left the camp a 
little while after Captain Ingle.” 

“ And the Presbyters, White and Hutchins 

“ Why, sir, we thought they had received some 
tidings touching the men who were expected ; for 
they spoke to Captain Ingle, and soon after depart- 
ed by the path leading to Providence.” 

“ Gone too !” ejaculated Claiborne. “ So — so — 
this a deeper game than I believed him capable of ; 
though doubtle.=s the cowardly knaves needed not 
much pressing. Away, Oby, and summon out the 
men ; we must strike a swift blow, and a sudden. 
Say to them we are bound at once for St Mary’s” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

Rapidly and noiselessly did the fugitives thrid 
the dense forest lying between the camp of Clai- 
borne and the town of St. Mary’s. The day had 
become considerably advanced, and as yet they had 
neither halted nor slackened their speed. A change 
of bearers for the feeble Eustace Cornwallis was 
occasionally ellected with silent celerity, and then 
the little party hurried on as before. During their 
progress. Arthur Cornwallis walked by the side of 
his brother’s litter, and the conversation which 
passed between them was of the most painfully in- 
teresting character. Arthur spoke of his present 
feeling of degradation, and de{)lored those infirmi- 
ties of temper by which Ingle had been enabled to 
lead him into dishonorable deceptions, and obtain 
over him a temporary and abhorred mastery. He 
concealed nothing. He palliated nothing ; but with 
the loathing dispirited feeling of one to whom life 
had become valueless, he portrayed the w'retched- 
ijess of his existence from the period of his brother’s 
supposed loss— his love for Mary Branfhwayte — 
her rejection, together with his passionate and un- 
justifiable threats and insults, and ended with an 
appeal to his brother to forgive him for every thing 
wherein he might have offended. The only reply 
of Eustace was the outstretching of his arms and 
folding his erring but repentant brother to his heart. 
When, at length, the invalid found words he said : 

“My poor Arthur, full well I know what you 
must have suffered, but be of good cheer, our father 
is of a forgiving disposition, and I have the vanity 
to believe that my return will so open his heart 
that the utmost penalty he will inflict will be a 
simple chiding and an earnest desire you should 
give up those companions for whom you have too 
lightly hazarded your own peace, the honor of your 
family, and your old-time good name.” 

“ You speak cuttingly, Eustace.” 

“ My dear brother it is because I love you ; I feel 
my own days are numbered, but I could bid farewell 
to life with greater content when I see you again 


the support and pride of our father, and know you 
will be his stay and consolation when the brown 
earth covers me.” 

“ I pray God, Eustace, you may yet recover 
health and strength, as I doubt not you will, with 
the good nursing and the comforts of home ; for 
these are blessings you must have sadly missed 
among strangers.” 

“ Nay, I have had the best of nurses,” said 
Eustace, quickly, his pale face flushing at the re- 
membrance of the devoted Helen ; and then he 
told his brother how kind she had been, and how 
he wmuld have died long ere this, but for her tender 
ministering. The story of his love was on his 
lips, but he feared the time was not yet come for 
him to tell it, so he checked himself abruptly. 

“ She is a noble woman,” said Arthur. 

“ She is more than that,” replied his sick brother, % 
enthusiastically; “ she is an angel.” 

Arthur Cornwallis looked at Neenah, who had 
all this while followed humbly, but lovingly, by his 
side, and as he met her trusting, joyous gaze, his 
voice softened. 

“Thou, too, my poor Neenah, hast as kind and 
noble a heart as ever beat in woman ” 

“ Neenah make proud,” she answered with a glad 
bird-like laugh, and then she clapped her hands as 
she added in the fullness of her heart — 

“ Young Eagle say Neenah good — Neenah make 
very proud.” 

“Ha! so merry, Neenah,” said Forster, with a 
gay smile; “ well, that pleases me, and now I be- 
think me I have some trinkets at St. Mary’s which 
may well become your forest beauty: you shall 
have them — coral from the far southern seas, and 
beads of blue and gold.” 

Of that intense passion for gauds and gewgaws, 
so characteristic of all barbarous or semi-civilized 
natures, the artless forest girl had her full share. 
Her first feeling for the proposed gift was that of 
exceeding gratification ; but when she thought how 
simply the maidens of St. Mary’s were attired, and 
questioned herself whether Arthur Cornwallis 
would approve of her wearing the proffered braveries, 
she came ra])idly to the conclusion to put a restraint 
upon her own untutored longings, in the hope that 
he w^ould approve her conduct. 

“ Snjer brave, Neenah much t’ank,” she said, and 
pointing to her picturesque dress of tanned deer 
skins, added : “ urn good for Neenah — trinket not 
good.’’ 

“ Thou art right, my girl,” said Cornwallis, 
heartily. “ Such things are not meet for you, 
although Master Forster deserves your thanks, for 
he means the offer in all kindness.” 

“ Aye, marry, that did I,” said Forster, good 
humouredly, “ but an’ she vvill not have them, I 
know then who w'ill. In good sooth I am right 
glad she is above the wearing them, that generous 
and true friend of the English, the princess Poca- 
hontas loved not tawdry braveries ; at least I have 
heard good Anas Todkill say she was as nmdest in 
her attire as a city-bred lady of our owm land, and 
our princess Neenah hath many of her right glorious 
qualities.” 

They had been traversing all this time, from early 
dawn until near noon-day, a long rolling stretch of 
forest land, lying between the fcit. Mary’s river and 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


85 


the waters of the broad Potomac. The massive 
oaks, hickories and tulip trees, rose at that time in 
all their primeval majesty, overshadowing with their 
far-spreading branches the ground beneath ; and as 
a consequence the latter was comparatively clear of 
the dense and ragged undergrowth, that renders 
some woods so unsightly to the eye and so difficult 
for travelers to penetrate. The wild denizens of 
the forest yet roved here in fearless freedom. Herds 
of deer, with their slender but most graceful forms, 
mild dark eyes and magnificent antlers, occasionally 
bounded across their path, or stopped for a moment | 
to look in wonder at the strange invaders of their j 
solitude. A few bears were seen prowling cautious- ' 
ly through the swamps, occasionally formed between { 
the dips of the hills, while on the uplands, the 1 
chattering squirrel leaped boldly from tree to tree, | 
and running out on the 'topmost branches, looked j 
down and barked their sharp defiance at the in- j 
truders. There was heard, too, in the thickets the 
chirping of many birds, and the musical song of 
a few. Above them all, rose the sweet and varied 
song of the mocking bird, the feathered minstrel 
mimic, who, having but few notes by nature, yet 
catches up the songs of all others, and incorporating 
them with his own, makes the woods vocal with his 
enlivening and ever changing melody. 

It was now high noon. The little party had, 
with some difficulty, succeeded in reaching the 
summit of a high hill, the highest in their line of 
route. Here Opachiko halted, and beckoning to 
Forster and Cornwallis, pointed to the scene before 
them. It was, indeed, a glorious picture of un- 
tamed nature. Far down at their feet lay a quiet 
valley, upon which the cloud-shadows resting, made 
the matted foliage of the trees appear of a black 
green. A small blue thread of a stream rippled 
through the midst; gradually ascending, rolled the ! 
fantastic undulations of the wooded wilderness 
bathed in the full golden radiance of the sunlight, 
nearest where the travelers stood; but further on, dark 
even to very blackness ; thence irregularly descend- 
ing away over the tops of the farthest trees on the 
one side, show the waves of the beautiful Potomac; 
and on the other, gleamed, at intervals, the slenderer 
curvatures of the bright river of St. Mary’s. 

After a pause, during which they all drank in the 
beauty of the scene, Opachiko stretched forth his 
band, and pointing proudly, said — 

“ How like it 1 all my land — land good.’’ 

And Cornwallis and Forster both replied — 

“ It is most glorious !” 

“ See !” returned Opachiko, turning his finger in 
the direction of the valley beneath, “ we go — plenty 
water — eat.” 

Notwithstanding their long fast, and the distance 
they had already achieved, Forster would have pre- 
ferred putting a few more miles between them and 
the reach of pursuit ; but he knew the men must 
be weary, so he merely nodded his head and re- 
plied — 

“ So be it, then, let us on at once, we need not 
remain long to refresh.” 

In a little nook of the valley, and beside the 
rivulet already mentioned, where the long pendu- 
lous vines of the wild grape, formed a cool net 
work of leaves, the little party seated themselves 
and made ready for their repabt. This did not take 


long, for the Indians, well skilled in the mysteries 
of wood craft, and accustomed to emergencies of 
the kind, soon prepared a meal, which, to the hun- 
gry wayfarers, seemed almost luxurious; though it 
consisted merely of venison broiled on the embers ; 
parched corn, and water from the brook. 

Suddenly Opachiko sprang to his feet. His 
quick ear had detected the approach of some one, 
and the little party watched his motions with breath- 
less interest, anxious to ascertain whether it were 
friend or foe. With his finger on his lip, his eyes 
intently fixed, his dark little body leaned forward, 
and his lips slightly parted, he looked the very pic- 
ture of attention ; but there was nothing in his 
otherwise impassive countenance to denote what 
were his thoughts. Cornwallis and Forster, as a 
matter of precaution, both grasped the arms which 
Neenah had secretly obtained for them, determined 
to sell their lives dearly, rather than consent to be 
retaken. But these warlike demonstrations appear- 
ed to be altogether unnecessary ; for presently 
Opachiko, pointing to the stranger as the latter di- 
verged from the path by which they had come, 
seated himself with a satisfied “ ugh,” and began 
leisurely to smoke his pipe. 

All the blood in the veins of Cornwallis seemed 
to rush to his face, as he lecognized in the indivi- 
dual pointed out, the person of the hated Ingle. 
With one bound, and without saying a word to 
any of bis companions, he darted up the ascent, 
pistol in hand ; but Forster, divining his purpose, 
was quickly at his side, and laying bis hand upon 
the other’s arm, stayed his further progress. 

“ Come back !” exclaimed he ; “ this is mad- 
ness !” 

“ Unhand me. Master Forster,” said Cornwallis, 
sharply. “ You forget yourself. Unhand me, I 
say, lest I do you a mischief.” 

“ What would you do 1” asked Forster. 

“ yeek yonder man, mine enemy.” 

“ And thereby bring ruin on us all. How do 
we know he is alone ; besides, he is armed more 
fully than you ; and though I am well assured his 
errand must be evil, yet can we not suffer you to 
peril your life or our safety at this time.” 

“ But it is fitting some one should watch his 
movements.” 

“It were indeed to be desired, but it cannot be 
done ; we have other duties to perform, your brother 
Eustace demands our first care, and our safe return 
to St. Mary’s depends greatly upon silence and 
wariness. If we should fail in reaching there, owing 
to delay in other matters, his Excellency might lose 
much for lack of the information we could impart.” 

‘‘ Brother Arthur, I beseech you be advised. 
Master Forster is right, I speak not for myself, 
indeed, but for us all, and the advantage of the 
Colony.” 

“ Well,” said Cornwallis, “ well my good friend 
and brother, be it as you will, nevertheless I would 
that we could hang upon the footsteps of that man.” 

All this time Neenah had been an attentive list- 
ener. When Cornwallis first darted forward, she 
had risen up for the purpose of accompanying him, 
and now stood by his side, In the hollow of the hill, 
attentive both with eye and ear to the conversation. 
At first she was indignant with Forster for inter- 
cepting Cornwallis, but after comprehending his 


86 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


reasons, though imperfectly, her countenance as- 
sumed a look of great satisfaction ; and when she 
heard Cornwallis lament the need of some one to 
hover about Ingle and watch his proceedings, she 
stepped forward at once, and said, abruptly, 

“ I go — Neenah, Indian — watch so, and so — 
please young Eagle I go, foot no hear.” 

“ Nay, Neenah, I need not this proof of your 
attachment. We must not lose you, so we will let 
him psss this once.” 

“ It were, perhaps, as well,” replied Forster, re- 
turning to the litter, “ though under any other cir- 
cumstances I w’ould have been one of the first to 
propose otherwise. Now let us make ready to re- 
sume our march.” 

In a few minutes all were prepared to set forth. 

“ Come, Neenah,” said Cornwallis, looking kind- 
ly around for the forest maiden, but she was no 
where to be found. 

“ Gone !” he exclaimed. “ Gone ! and without 
one word ; this is unkind of her!” 

And, vexed at her departure, he became still 
more uneasy lest some misfortune should happen 
to her, for he readily conjectured her motives for 
leaving ; and as he thought the thing over, this 
fresh proof of her devotedness caused tender emo- 
tions to arise in his bosom toward her, of which he 
was half ashamed, and half pleased. A long train 
of mental catechising followed, the result of which 
drew her still nearer to his heart. 

“ She is brave, generous and affectionate,” thought 
he. “ Quick to learn, and eager to do all things 
for my pleasure ; what if she were my — pshaw ! 
they of St. Mary’s would laugh at the idea of mar- 
riage between us. Yet, wherefore should they I 
Ralph wedded Pocahontas, and honored himself 
thereby; why, then, should I hesitate I If this 
wilderness is to be my future home, she is the bet- 
ter wife for me; and yet — well, well, we shall see.” 

Thus began a great change in Arthur Cornwallis, 
a change which the utter hopelessness of obtaining 
the hand of Mary Branthwayte had materially 
contributed to bring about. He contrasted the cold- 
ness of the one with the alfectionate devotion of 
the other, until he at length almost brought him- 
self to believe that the fearless Neenah would be 
more suitable to him as a wife, than the paler and 
more timid maiden of St. Mary’s. 

Meanwhile ’Shiko and his companions made 
ready to depart; and now, four of the Indians again 
taking up the litter, the small party again resumed 
their line of march. The way was long and tedi- 
ous, for the young chieftain, true to his promise of 
safe conduct, avoided, at times, the regular and 
beaten trail, and struck out into the depths of the 
forest, in order that their pursuers might be the less 
likely to fall in with them. The pace was neces- 
sarily slow, for the heat of the day was so intense 
that even the innumerable birds, that in the morn- 
ing chirped and sang, and flew and frolicked around 
and about them, had now forsaken the upland 
woods for the cooler shelter of the thick bushes 
that skirted the running stream. Not a leaf stirred, 
and nothing was heard throughout the vast and 
slumberous solitude but the low utterance and light 
footfall of the travelers. 

“ How paltry appear our English woods in com- 
parison with these,” said Forster, gazing admiringly 


at the magnificent trees, whose mighty shafts 
towered up a hundred feet above his head, and 
there outspreading, locked and interlaced them 
branches with each other, 

“ Here,” he continued, “ every thing is on so 
large a scale that a sense of awe, a sort of reverent 
fear possesses the mind ; whereas, in our own land 
we should tread the wooded glades with no higher 
feeling than one of calm security. Even bold Robin 
Hood and his merry men, were they alive again 
and roaming these wilds, inspired by their dim 
religiousriess, would let the proud priest pass with 
a ‘ God save ye,’ or crave a benediction at his 
hands, rather than despoil him of the rich housings 
of his palfrey, or the well-filled purse that dangled 
at his girdle.” And then, followirjg out the chain ot 
his thoughts, the free hearted young soldier began 
one of those numerous songs which have the merry 
archer of Sherwood for their theme. But suddenly 
the .song died upon his lips; ’Shiko halted abruptly 
in the attitude of listening. His followers also 
stopped — the tramp of approaching horse became 
gradually audible in front — the Indians looked for 
a moment at their leader, and at a given signal set 
down the litter, and, darting off, were soon lost in 
the recesses of the forest. 

Painfully now beat the hearts of the fugitives — 
slightly armed as they were what hope could they 
have of escape ; desert the invalid and attempt to 
secure their own liberty by flight, they would not, 
so drawing themselves up by the side of the litter 
they awaited with anxiety the coming of friend or 
foe. Their suspense was not of long duration, for 
the sound became every moment more distinct. 
Presently the ridge of the hill above them was 
lined with armed men, in whom, by their livery, 
and cognisance, the fugitives recognised to their 
intense delight, friends and deliverers from St. 
Mary’s. 

At their head advanced Captain Trevor and gor d 
Anas Todkill. A joyful shout from Forster 
quickly arrested their attentioti, and after a brief 
parley the party descended the hill, and soon 
nothing but pleasant and glad words of welcome 
were heard on both sides. 

To the invalid Eustace Cornwallis, so long 
mourned as dead, both Trevor and the Ancient ex- 
hibited a kindness and attention that moved the 
elder brother even to tears. He had stood aloof 
until now, but this display of feeling s® overcame 
him, that, urged by the frankness of his ealier 
days, he walked forward and extending his band to 
Trevor said, with the deepest self-abasement, 

*• Trevor, I have done many wrongs, for which I 
hope yet to make atonement. Against you, espe- 
cially, have I vowed the deepest hostility ; but the 
enmity I so lately boro you hath given place to a 
better feeling. The struggle this hath caused me 
you do not know ; but if, upon the faith of what I 
once was, you can again admit me to share your 
friendship, I trust in all humility to yet prove my- 
self not utterly unworthy.” 

Trevor made no reply, but turned away from 
the speaker with something like contempt expres- 
sed on his usually clear and open countenance. 
He could not believe in so sudden a change. The 
Arthur Cornwallis ; the wassailer ; the false friend ; 
the loose roisterer ; the insulter of one who was to 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


87 


him the clearest object upon earth, was still in his 
mind’s eye ; and he could not, would not express 
by word or action, any regard for one who had so 
deceived him, and whose reformation he yet 
doubted. 

Eustace and Forster were both interested spec- 
tators of this scene, and when the former observed 
the crimsoned cheek of his brother, he said — 

“ Dear brother be not cast down, I, who know 
you best and have heard your inmost revealings, 
will still stand by your side though all the world 
else desert you. In my love shall your broken 
spirit find rest until time shows to others the wrong 
they do you by their suspicions. Courage, brother, 
all men judge not thus harshly.” 

“Master Cornwallis,” said Forster kindly, “ I also 
pray you to believe in my humble but true attach- 
ment, and will bear willing and hearty testimony 
vvith my body if need be, wherever a word to your 
disparagement may be spoken.” 

“ And I,” said the Ancient heartily, as he grasped 
the hand of Cornwallis, “with such sponsors as 
Eustace, and my young friend Forster, take the 
son of my old friend to my bosom once again. 
The errors of youth a lenient hand should deal 
with ; harsh censure too often confirms them. 
Captain Trevor, an old man tells thee thou art 
wrong, and as he knows thee to be generous, so 
doth he also trust thou art forgiving.” • 

Trevor could not withstand these appeals. His 
heart softened. He gazed for a moment upon the 
pale face of his old-time companion, and then, 
springing from his horse and extending his arms, 
the two so long estranged were locked in each 
other’s embrace, and the familiar names of Arthur 
and of Sidney, once more upon their lips con- 
firmed the reconciliation. 

But sterner actions were soon to be required, for 
presently a herd of frightened deer, from the direc- 
tion of Claiborne’s camp, came bounding madly 
towards them. It was not until the scared ani- 
mals had descended the hill, and were about to 
take the channel of the water course, that they be- 
came aware of the presence of men. Stopping 
•abruptly, they turned their antlered heads for a few 
seconds full upon the intruders; and, in the excite- 
ment of the moment, with the lax discipline com- 
mon to the lime, more than one piece was levelled 
at the tempting game, but the Ancient hastily 
dashed forward and struck up the weapons. 

“ Are you mad, sirs'?” said he, in a quick low 
tone ; “ an’ I be not mistaken, there will be other 
use I trow, for your powder soon.” 

“ A timely caution,” remarked Trevor ; ‘‘ the 
flurry of those deer make it evident to me there are 
foes not far olf. W e must be prepared to receive 
them.” 

As he spoke, the herd recovered from their 
astonishment, and, suddenly altering their direction, 
rushed up the valley, and were soon lost amid the 
thick bushes. 

“ See !” said Forster, pointing with his fiisger, — 
“ my good friend Philip Wharton, and at the top 
of his speed.” 

“ Aye, aye, Philip is the scout for me,” replied 
the Ancient. “ I warrant he hath news worth the 
telling.” 

Hot with bis exertions, Wharton now ap. 


proached. His intelligence created the greatest 
sensation throughout the whole detachment. He 
had, at first, discovered only the party of horse sent 
out by Claiborne in pursuit of the fugitives, but, 
conjecturing Keintre’s force might only be a small 
troop, pushed forward in advance of the main body, 
he determined to ascertain further before he re- 
turned, and, at the distance of half a mile, he 
secretly espied the larger multitude, commanded, 
as he supposed, by Claiborne in person. 

“ How many do those number who are nearest?” 
demanded Trevor. 

“ Some fifty, as I guess.” 

“And we but little over thirty in all; yet we 
could beat them, I think,” said the young Com- 
mander, turning to the veteran Anas. 

The Ancient stroked his beard and looked grave. 
“ Doubtless we might,” he replied, after a pause, 
“ but that would avail us naught ; and if they held 
out stoutly until the reinforcements come up. we 
should fare but badly. It were better if the whole 
were kept in check until a swift messenger could 
reach St. Mary’s.” 

“ What say you, Wharton, will you be the 
bearer, making known to the Governor your 
tidings ?” 

“ I am ready, sir, at your bidding, either to fight 
or run, so that my poor services benefit the 
Colony.” 

“ I thank you ; press on, then, with what speed 
you may. Say to his Excellency, we W'ill en- 
deavor to hold the rebels at bay, at or near the old 
hunting lodge, if we can reach it in time, and that 
we shall look for such additional assistance as he 
can spare. Now sir, God speed you.” 

As soon as Wharton was gone, six men were 
detailed to go forward with the litter, with strict in- 
junctions to make the best of their way to St. 
Mary’s. This, as weakening their already small 
party, Eustace Cornwallis would have opposed, but 
the gentle firmness of Trevor would not allow its 
being otherwise. 

“ Think not of it, my friend,” said he; “ we are 
enough yet to make good our own until succour 
arrives ; and our movements, if required, can 
be made with more 'facility, when the anxiety lor 
your safety is removed ; besides, your brother and 
Forster remain with us, they can mount the spare 
horses, and may well make up for those we part 
from.” 

“ A little harder fighting, perhaps,” said the 
Ancient, good hurnoredly, “ that is all, so say no 
more, but commend us to our friends when ye 
meet.” 

Cornwallis and Forster now took an afiectionate 
leave of Eustace; and having watched the litter 
safely across the hill, returned and fell into the 
ranks, prepared to share fearlessly with the little 
party, the dangers that were fast gathering around 
them. 

“Now, my friends,” exclaimed Trevor, in a 
cheerful voice, — “ for the hunting lodge of Indian 
hollow, and look well to your arms.” 

“ Marked and Forster,” said the Ancient, “ good 
lads go ye before ; keep your eyes roving about 
you ; peer well among the bushes and fallen trees^ 
or we may have rough greeting from a score of 
savage’s arrows. The creatures are very subtle^ 


88 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


and a cunning ambuscade is a difficult thing for 
even valorous men to deal with.” 

“ Think you the enemy are near us 1” said 
Cornwallis. “Judging by the deer, I should say 
but a short distance off, am I not right. Ancient!” 

“We shall have them upon us quite soon 
enough, Captain Trevor, and it behooves us to 
make as much speed as comports, with due caution 
against outlying savages. The lodge once gained, 
we may hold out in despite of any body of knaves, 
they can at this time bring against us. True, we 
are but indifferently victualled, yet as St. Mary’s 
is but half a day’s journey, if Wharton reach the 
city, as I doubt not he will, we may look for sup- 
plies, and a reinforcement at the same time, and if 
these fail us, there is a trick of the place known to 
me which may yet stand us in good stead.” 

“ See !” exclaimed a soldier, looking back, “ see, 
they are coming.” 

“ Humph, a dainty set of scoundrels,” said the 
Ancient, coolly. “ And if my old eyes deceive me 
not, their leader is none other than that wild 
rakehelly Keintre. I am sorry for it, inasmuch as 
his loose floating love-locks still betoken something 
of the cavalier he once was — ah me, the taverns of 
old London have been the despoiling of many a 
gallant fellow, but for none who have fallen into 
evil courses, have I felt more sorrow than for yon 
generous dare-devil, Hugh Keintre.” 

“ What can that be for!” exclaimed Cornwal- 
lis. “ They are halting, and are gathering round 
as if for consultation.” 

The Ancient smiled quietly. 

“ They doubt our numbers,” said he ; “a pru- 
dent caution, for which I did not give Keinire 
credit. It is plain they think we have a stronger 
force within trumpet call. Look you ; he is send- 
ing back messengers to hurry up Claiborne ; that 
done, he will hover upon our rear, but I doubt if 
he will molest us until joined by the main body.” 

“ I think with you, and will therefore hazard 
the sending forward a few of our party to the 
lodge, that they may put it in as defensible a 
state as possible against we arrive.” 

“ It will be wisely done sir,” said the Ancient ; 
“ our very carelessness of danger will doubtle-s 
confirm their opinion, touching the hidden strength 
of our force.” 

The men w'ere forthwith dispatched, while the 
little band, now much diminished in numbers, con- 
tinued leisurely on their way. This open con- 
tempt of Keintre’s superior numbers, operated as 
the Ancient had foreseen, confirming the rebel 
lieutenant in his suspicions of the colonists being 
backed by a larger body of men, to whom the few 
he saw were acting as a decoy. He therefore con- 
cluded lo keep aloof, simply hovering within sight, 

' until aided by Claiborne, and supported by such 
strength as he knew the latter would bring. 

Steadily, and with admirable composure, the 
little troop rode onwards. Not a word or a ges- 
ture betrayed a doubt of their being able to cope 
with Keintre, in the event of coming to blows, or 
even to hold at bay until relieved by the Governor, 
the more numerous followers of Claiborne him- 
self. Occasionally, indeed, a trooper would cast 
a sly glance backwards, as if to measure the dis- 
tance that intervened between him and his watch- 

% 


ful antagonists, and the result would generally be 
an adjustment of the sword nearer to the hand, or 
an apparently careless examination of the pistols 
protruding from his belt, or of the petronel, or 
short gun, that was slung by a belt across the 
shoulder. 

“ Is it not a little strange,” remarked Trevor, 
“ that neither Markell or Forster appear to meet 
with any traces of Indians ! I have heard there 
were a consideiable number in the Camp of Clai- 
borne ; surely, knowing the.m to be expert wood- 
men and very cunning withal, he has not retained 
them about his own person, when, by being sent 
forward as scouts, their services might benefit him 
so much.” 

“ Of a verity,” replied the Ancient, “ I have been 
marveling within my own mind touching this 
thing. Claiborne, bad man as I believe him to be, 
is yet too able a soldier to neglect availing himself 
of their talents in the manner wherein they are 
most useful, unless something hath happened tha 
Icadcth him to doubt their fealty. They are a 
treacherous race, at best. Captain Trevor; and 
though the wind of their favor may set in fairly 
from the south to-day, yet on the morrow you shall 
haply find that favor changed ; and in the place of 
sunshine and soft airs, clouds and a strong storm 
blast from the north. Now, I bethink me, wilt 
thou send some one forward in the place of Forster ; 
I would fain speak with the young man.” 

“I will go, if Trevor will permit me,” said Corn- 
wallis. 

“ Arthur,” replied Trevor, kindly, “ it is a service 
of some danger.” 

“ So much the better,” said Cornwallis, cheer- 
fully. “ Before I can regain his Excellency’s 
favor, he must hear of deeds, not words ;” so say- 
ing, he rode away. 

“ A good lad !” exclaimed the Ancient, looking 
after him with an approving smile ; “ a good lad 
after all; and if he continue thus, as I doubt not 
he will, thou and I, Trevor, must sustain him in 
his worthy resolves, until the Governor shall be 
pleased to acknowledge his m.erit. The hot blood 
of youth,” continued the old soldier, in a sort of 
half soliloquy, “ is prone lo play the wanton, and 
run into excesses; but where these flow not from 
an inborn depravity, there is still hope. Our filth 
Harry was a notable instance of a roistering Prince, 
and he became one of England’s noblest Kings.” 

“ My good Ralph,” said the Ancient, as the 
former rode up, “ come hither, between Trevor and 
myself; and now tell me, didst thou meet with 
Rugly in Claiborne’s camp! — my foolish old heart 
hath many and sore misgivings concerning his 
safety.” 

“And still more sadly, then, will the truth 
come,” replied Forster, with a shudder. — “ He is 
dead.” 

“Dead!” echoed Trevor and the Ancient, and 
then, the latter lifting his tearful eyes reverentially, 
added, “ May God have mercy upon his soul ! 
Verily, it hath come to pass even as the prophetic 
vision of the poor youth foresaw.” 

“How did he die!” inquired Trevor, after a 
pause. 

“As a traitor to Claiborne. The manner of his 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


89 


death I did not witness, but they were preparing to 
hang him. It befell thus — ” 

And Forster then narrated what passed in his 
presence : — the coming of the Dwarf with the letter 
from St. Mary’s, the feigned jollity of Ingle, and 
his own imprisonment for venturing a word in de- 
fence of the victim. 

“ And this devil, Ingle, is he still with Clai- 
borne 1” inquired Trevor. 

Forster replied in the negative, adding, immedi- 
ately, the fact of having seen him a short time 
previous, alone, and apparently making his way by 
the shortest route to St. Mary’s. 

“Indeed!” said the Ancient, gravely; “but this 
is serious tidings. The man’s bitter enmity to the 
Governor I well know, and surely he hath not 
ventured thither save for some evil purpose. I 
would we could have forewarned his Excellency.” 

“This has been cared for,” rejoined Forster. 
“ The Indian girl Neenah volunteered to follow on 
his footsteps, and her quick wit will surely find 
some means of apprising the Governor of any im- 
pending danger.” 

“ Well done — well done ! now I breathe freely,” 
said the Ancient. “ Neenah is a bold, noble girl, 
and I do believe is well affected towards the 
Colony. I’faith, it is very well done.” 

“ I doubt if he venture any ill towards the 
Governor,” answered Forster ; “ I rather fear he 
hath some bad intention against Amy Roberts.” 

“ He most to the Castle, then,” said the Ancient, 
with a light laugh; “for the Lily hath your lady- 
love for her bower companion,” 

Their way now led through a defile, almost im- 
practicable for hosemen. Rude masses of rock 
were scattered in confusion over the surface of the 
ground, and in such great quantities as to obstruct 
in a measure the growth of vegetation. When- 
ever, indeed, a vacant space occurred, trees had 
sprung up and towered to an immense height; 
taking possession, also, of the bold sides of the 
hills on either hand, and interlocking their enor- 
mous branches so as to form a cool vista, which, 
from its frequent windings, seemed almost intermi- 
nable. Gradually the scene changed to a smooth, 
level sward, dotted with clumps of noble oaks, 
poplars, and hickories, intersperced with such 
beautiful effect that it presented the appearance of 
a noble park, laid out with the most exquisite art. 
Here, the hills receding, inclosed this lovely valley 
in the form of a semicircle, at the far end of which, 
distant about a mile, could be seen the rude struc- 
ture known to the colonists as the Hunting Lodge 
of Indian Hollow. 

“ Press on, my men,” said Trevor, gaily; “a 
few minutes will bring us to the Lodge.” 

“Hark!” exclaimed the Ancient; “surely I 
hear the tread of a horse, pricking his way over 
those villainous rocks we have so lately left. Hear 
you that? — He has slipped down — no! the sound 
comes nearer. By ’r lakin ! the rider must be an 
indifferent one. for he tumbles about like a ship in 
a cross sea. — Nay, halt not, but go ye on ; I must 
have a look at this fellow.” 

The curiosity of the worthy Ancient was soon 
gratified; for, wheeling round, he saw the head 
of a man peering from behind the huge trunk of a 
tulip tree standing at the mouth of the defile. 


Without a word, the Ancient silently drew a pistol, 
and suddenly made a dash at the intruder ; and so 
dating and unexpected was this act of the old sol- 
dier, that the man found a strong grasp upon his 
shoulder, and a pistol in close proximity to his 
person, before he had even formed any plan of de- 
fence. 

“ Yield thee !” said the Ancient. — “Yield thee, 
and without alarm, or I will put thee to instant 
death !” 

“ I yield,” exclaimed the player Lightfoot — for it 
was he, w'ith his red nose almost blanched to the 
pale hue of his face — “ I yield, hut I pray you, 

! most valorous Captain, remove that weapon to a 
I more respectable distance. It might explode, even 
j though you intend it not ; and though I have oft- 
] times, in my eventful life, personated Death to the 
I immense satisfaction of numerous, and, I may say, 

I respectable audiences, yet I have no desire to 
! wrestle with the mighty shadow in reality. I have 
! not the remotest anxiety to say with poor Kit 
Marlowe’s Tamburlaine — 

‘See where my slave, the ugly monster, Death — 
Shaking and quivering, pale, and wan with fear — 
Stands aiming at me with his murdering dart ; 

Who flies away at every glance I give, 

And when I look away, comes stealing on.’ 

For my part, I would rather he would steal off as 
fast as possible.” 

“ Bah ! — Who are you I” 

“ Hector Lightfoot, at your service ; — once a 
famous, and I trust not yet forgotten player, at the 
Fortune, the Globe, and the Bankside; who, being 
indebted in certain monies to certain heartless folk, 
indwellers of goodly London Town, deemed it be- 
fitting the safety of his much respected person, that 
he should indulge in the rusticities of the country 
for a brief season; and hearing much of the balrai- 
ness of the zephyrs of this land, the player afore- 
said, that is, your humble servant, accepted the 
offer from a marine Capitano to cross the briny 
ocean, where, on landing, he unwittingly found 
himself in the hands of certain philistines — mean- 
ing his late companions — when he looked to greet 
true men, and lo ! here he is.” 

I’he reckless humor of his prisoner amused the 
Ancient exceedingly. He readily saw that Light- 
foot appeared what he purported to be, yet still, 
with the cautiousness of age, he hesitated to give 
entire credence to his story. That his captive had 
indeed been a player, there could be no mariner of 
doubt; for the professional marks about the man 
were too plain to be disputed. Whether he had 
really been duped into following Claiborne, was 
a matter of more uncertainty ; for the players of 
those days, like many of later times, were more 
prone to seek companions among those who were 
fond of indulging in kindred excesses, than to con- 
sort with men whose way of living was more staid, 
prudent and exact. 

“ Fine words. Master Lightfoot, fine words,” 
said the Ancient, with feigned gravity ; “ but what 
thou hast said will require proof, before the 
Governor and his honorable council will give it 
credence; and if thou best, wo be unto thee, for 
they have a brief way of dealing with spies.” 

“Pardie,” replied the player, with a choking 
sensation about the throat; “I have a strange re- 


90 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


pugnance to play on the stage o’ the world in any 
tragedy, the consummation of which affects verita- 
bly my own dear person. Comedy, Sir Capitano, 
delights me best. A good laugh, that draws a nail 
out of a man’s coffin, is to my mind more to be 
desiderated than any stoppage of the suspiration, 
however natural, that fastens down the lid. Stab 
me with the stage-dagger — shoot me with paper 
pellets, and I will gather my robe about me and 
fall becomingly. But to depend ungracefully by 
a vulgar string attached to a common tree, ahem ! 
excuse me, I ’d rather not.” 

“Humph! there is one thing might save that 
lenten carcase of thine from such degradation.” 

“ Say you so, then I am your man. Any ser- 
vice I can render with a fair fame, shall be done. 
I can write — somewhat crabbedly, it is true — I can 
dance, marvelously well; I can play the gitlern 
equal to him 

“ "Wlio built the walls of Thebes 
With ravishing sounds of his melodious harp.” 

I have a sweet breast, poetically so called, but 
known in the vulgate as a good voice. Would 
you hear me sing, listen — 

‘ La tra la — ” 

“ None of these accomplishments are required at 
present,” said the Ancient, drily. 

“ What is it, then 1 Shall I usurp the office of 
merry Puck, and — ‘ Put a girdle round the earth in 
forty minutes'?’ — A brief space of time, I confess; 
yet command me to do it, and I will try.” 

“ Oil, doubtless,” said the Ancient, sarcastically ; 
“as, by so doing, thou wouldst at least put thyself 
beyond my reach. No, no, Master Light o’ foot, 
such trials of speed we need not. But this we 
want,” added the old soldier, wifh grave earnest- 
ness — “ we want thee to put us in possession of 
Claiborne’s plans, as far as known; and this done, 
I pledge thee my honor to make good thy freedom.” 

“ Sir Capitano,” answered the player, suddenly 
dropping the light tone in which he had previously 
spoken, and assuming almost an air of dignity ; 
“ Sir Capitano, I am a poor devil — 

‘ ’ Tis true — ’ tis pity — pity ’ tis, ’ tis true — ’ 

and have been kicked about the world like a foot- 
ball, pretty much from the time when I was an 
infant, 

‘ Mewling and puking in my nurse’s arms.’ 

I have been imprisoned under the vagrant act by 
Cavaliers, and avoided as an unwholesome thing 
by Puritan and Presbyter. Now, notwithstanding 
these rebuffs, life is dear to me, and I would do 
much to save it. But I have eaten of Claiborne’s 
bread, and drank of his cup; and however unlaw- 
fully he may be acting, the poor player’s con- 
science, napless and thraadbare as it may be, will 
not let him betray the secrets of one who has ex- 
tended to him even an interested hospitality; — so, 
if this is what you want, hang me up — I am dumb 
as an oyster.” 

“ By my beard, I like thee the better for it,” 
thought the Ancient; but what he said, was — 

“ Thou wilt think over this, Master Lightfoot, 
and take heed thou chosest wi.-ely, for the Governor 
deals very rigorously with spies and malcontents.” , 


During this conversation the Ancient and his 
companion rapidly approached the little band of 
colonists, by whom the worthy old soldier was 
greeted as he came up. 

Nothing daunted by the presence of strangers, 
and equally regardless of the dangerous position in 
which he stood, Lightfoot greeted the party with a 
levity which showed how little impression the 
words of the Ancient had left upon his mind. 

“ Give ye good day, gentlemen,” said he, “ plea- 
sant weather this for a pleasant ride ; rather warm, 
perhaps, but the clear sunshine upon the foliage 
has a most delightful effect. No lack of trees for 
shade in this wonderful land. And this valley — how 
beautiful! Were the salvages banished, the ser- 
pents extirpated, the bears sent to the bear-garden, 
and the stings eradicated of certain little insects, 
that buzz about during the hours devoted to noc- 
turnal slumbers, this would be a terrestrial paradise. 
Adam and Eve might have billed and cooed here, 
and the cool leaves of the mighty vines might have 
served them better for garniture than did those of 
the fig tree. ’Slid ! but I am pleased to greet ye 
all, and I thank that great man. 

‘Great must I call him — great in mine overthrow,’ 

for introducing me to such a goodly company. 
Lightfoot is my name, not unknown, I flatter my- 
self, in far-away London, as a player of no mean 
abilities — a poor stroller now, sirs — but poverty and 
genius you know are almost always allied. Now, 

I think of it, is there such a curious thing as a 
flask among any of this worshipful company 1 I 
am as thir'ty as if I had eaten nothing but shotten 
herrings for a month.” 

“ Here is one,” said a trooper, “ but drink 
sparingly.” 

The player seized the vessel, and applied it 
eagerly to his lips, where it became glued until 
there was not a drop remaining. The little trooper 
opened his eyes in astonishment, not unmixed with 
anger. 

“ Allow me, sir,” said Lightfoot, courteously, 
“to return you your property, the fluid contents of 
which I fear I have somewhat incautiously dissi- 
pated. A most delicious draught, upon my honor, 
and I thank you. Pity there was so little of it.” 

“ So little !” echoed the trooper; “ why it was full 
to the neck.” 

“ Ah, but the vessel is so small.” 

“ It holds a pint,” said the trooper, now losing 
all patience, “ and I tell you, master — ” 

But, to Lightfoot’s great relief, the explosion was 
averted by Trevor calling out sharply — 

“ Peace ! this is no time for brawling. For the 
lodge — for the lodge, the enemy are upon us!” 

Trua enough, orv looking back, Keintre, as if 
possessed of belter information, or nshamod of his 
former cautiousness, had emerged from the defile 
into the valley, and was now dashing towards them 
at the top of his speed. The time, however, already 
gained, had been of singular service to the loyal 
troopers, the lodge was at hand, and every pre- 
caution taken that prudence could suggest. 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


91 


CHAPTER XXV. 

CoRywALLTs and Markell had already arrived, 
and to the jadicious dispositions of the former the 
troop were much indebted. 

The lodge was of logs, and had been originally 
erected as a place of retreat in case of any difficulty 
between the hunting-parties and the Indians. The 
site was well chosen for several reasons. It com- 
manded the entrance of the defile at the east end 
of the valley. The rear of the lodge rested upon 
loose rock, out of which opened a small spring, and 
a private mode of egress had been discovered, by 
which, in the event of the savages being likely to 
get possession, an escape might probably be made. 
There was no entrance to the lodge except through 
an aperture near and under the roof, and against 
which a rough ladder now leaned. Trevor and his 
little company now dismounted, and the horses, 
under the charge of several troopers, were sent up 
the defile to a convenient place of hiding. This 
done, Trevor exclaimed — 

“ Quick, quick, there is no time to be lost. 
Arthur, take half a dozen men into that clump of 
trees yonder, and keep the rebels back a few 
minutes. If you are hard pressed hasten to us, 
and I will see your retreat is well covered.” 

Cornwallis did as he was ordered, but, instead of 
approaching the trees directly under the observation 
of Keintre, he retreated to the defile, clambered up 
the rocks, and then, with silent celerity, returned 
by a circuitous route, and stationed his men as ap- 
pointed, undiscovered by the approaching rebels. 

“By St. Bride ! but that was well done !” ex- 
claimed the Ancient, with enthusiasm. “ His 
father could not have done it better. Ha ! here 
they come ! See how gallantly that roisterer Kein- 
tre rides. They are nearing the trees — why does 
he not fire 1 They close — ah, I see now — now 
he fires ! See ! see ! Bravo ! nobly done — three 
horses riderless, and the whole troop staggered and 
in confusion. Up, up, my men; — into the lodge. 
Keintre is growing savage —he gathers his troop 
together, and is preparing for a charge. Arthur 
must fall back, or he will be cut into pieces.” 

“ Man the loops !” shouted Trevor, and a goodly 
array of pieces were instantly pointed towards the 
enemy. Cornwallis and his men, meanwhile, 
darted from tree to tree, and, reaching the open 
ground, made with all speed for the lodge. This 
was the moment that Keintre charged, but he was 
doomed again to be foiled, for so direct and steady 
was the aim from the loops, that he was once more 
compelled to fall back in confusion. At this junc- 
ture, a dark moving mass a{)peared at the west end 
of the valley, and the inmates of the little fortress 
felt their hearts beat quicker, as they recognized, at 
the head of this motley assembly, the person of the 
redoubted Claiborne. No sooner did Keintre behold 
their approach, than he withdrew his men, and 
awaited at a safe distance the command of his 
leader. 

During the interview that succeeded, the de- 
fenders of the lodge were busily occupied in 
arranging their plans, so as to enable them to hold 
out as long as possible. To maintain the post until 
aid arrived from the Governor, both Trevor and 


the Ancient felt to be almost hopeless. The ut- 
most they believed themselves really able to do was 
to hold out for so long a time as would enable his 
Excellency to make such disposition of his force 
as the emergency called for; and, with gallant 
hardihood, the little band braced themselves to meet 
the tempest now lowering heavily, and so soon to 
burst upon them. 

The lodge, though containing but one room, was 
of considerable height. By means of spare timbers, 
a rude staging or gallery had been framed, and new 
loops pierced, an advantage which enabled the be- 
sieged to fire both from above and below. One 
half of the men, under Trevor, with Cornwallis as 
his lieutenant, took possession of the staging, while 
the remainder, under the Ancient and Foster, 
watched the troops beneath. 

“ Now, let them come !” exclaimed the Ancient, 
when these preparations were completed, “ and if 
we do not give the scoundrels a bountiful sprinkling 
of lead before they drive us from our burrows, 
hang me up for a quintain, and let the boys of St. 
Mary’s run a muck at me.” 

“ Ahem ! mine Ancient, as I find they call you — 
ahem !” coughed Lightfoot. with a lugubrious face, 
as, with his arms bound, he sat under the staging 
in one corner of the lodge. 

“ Well, Master Lightfoot, what wouldst thou 1 
Speak quick, man, and to the purpose ; this is no 
time for long speeches.” 

“ My good friend ; these bonds, I say it with re- 
gret, are very unaccomniodating. They are, more- 
over, ungraceful, inasmuch as they restrain the 
free natural actions of a man. Wherefore, I pray 
you, grant me one of two things. If I ana to be 
flung useless in a corner, let one of your good fel- 
lows place a flagon within my reach ; that we 
twain, that is, the flagon and myself, may hold 
mute communion together ; or else unloose the 
thongs, and give me sword and harquebuss. I must 
either drink or fight, for I like not to thump my 
heels on the hard ground in solitary grandeur.” 

“ What! wilt thou fight for the Proprietary 1” 

“ Nay, I say not that. But, if a man, approach- 
ing this fortress with hostile intent, should come in 
a line with the muzzle of my piece, it might chance 
to explode to his manifest injury.” 

“And the benefit of the Colony,” said Forster, 
laughing. 

“ A secondary consideration,” replied the player, 
with mock gravity. “ I reason thus : — Their bul- 
lets are not billeted for particular individuals, but 
have roving commissions, somewhat allied to a fool’s 
license, 

‘ A charter broad as is the wind, to blow on whom they 
please.’ ^ 

Now, as none can say that my particular nook, or 
sanctum, may not be invaded under their commis- 
sion ; and my poor, but much-respected lamp of 
life blown out instead of being merely blown 
upon. To prevent this consummation, I hold it 
a duty I owe myself, to stay the commissioner from 
performing any such melancholy catastrophe. Par- 
die, if ‘ willow willow’ is to be sung, I had rather 
be the singer than the subject.” 

Trevor, who had been a listener, could scarcely 
restrain a smile. 


92 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


“Give him an harquebuss, Forster said he, “ I 
will trust him.” 

“ .\nd a stoop of wine !” said Lightfoot, looking 
up inquiringly. 

“ Thou hast guzzled a pint, already,” retorted 
the little trooper. 

“ A pint !” exclaimed the player, toying with the 
beverage just handed him. “ flad it been the great 
tun of Heidelberg, thou mightst have thought it an 
exploit. Was not glorious Jack Falstaff’s allow- 
ance ‘ one penneyworth of bread to two gallons of 
sack,’ and shall I derogate I” 

“ Enough of this,” said Trevor. “ Ancient, you 
will .station him, and hark ye. Master Lightfoot, 
you have now an opportunity of saving your neck, 
look that you improve it; my eye will be upon 
you.” 

“And mine, sir Capitano, on the enemy. Now 
am I ready to ‘ Fright the souls of fearful adversa- 
ries.’ ” 

Keintre, in the meanwhile, had not been idle. 
Leaving his troop under charge of Duke Oby, he 
pricked across the valley to meet his leader. 

“ Well, sir.” said Claiborne, quickly, “ what of 
the fugitives ]” 

“ All snugly esconced within those four walls 
yonder. I have waited your aid to unkennel them, 
for by some mischance they lack not backers.” 

“ Something of this I have heard already. How 
'many do they number, and what are they ]” 

“ Some score and a half troopers from St, Mary’s, 
bully-boys in buff and steel, and notable good shots, 
as two of my men can testify. I should have been 
upon them before they took to their burrow, had 
not their movements led me to suppose they were 
more in number than I now believe them to be.” 

“ Keintre, a little temerity would have been, in 
this case, of far more service to our cause than the 
most deliberate caution. Thou shouldst have 
forced them to fight, even with the odds against 
thee, for surely thou couldst have held them busy 
until I came to thy assistance.” 

“ By this hand, sir !” said Keintre, ruffled at 
the reproof, “ I took them for more than they were ; 
and an ambuscade between the hills, with thickets 
and tall trees to defend the assailants from a charge 
of horse, might have left you saddles enough, but 
the riders you would have had to look for else- 
where.” 

“ Well, well,” said Claiborne, mildly, “ say no 
more, we will talk it over when we have won St. 
Mary’s ; now, there is work before us. Keintre, 
we must carry the tidings of our coming to the 
worshipful Leonard Calvert in person,” 

“Surely it would be the pleasantest way,” re- 
turned Keintre, laughing. “ Though, I doubt me, 
if he will esteem the compliment so highly as he 
ought.” 

“ Yon men,” continued Claiborne, “ being cooped 
now, it were an ill policy should they escape.” 

“ Truly, I think so.” 

“ Well, then, if they surrender unconditionally, 
they shall suffer no further ill at our hands than 
the customary restraint of personal liberty. W* 
will offer them terms; if they refuse them, and fire 
us — ” 

“ We must chastise them, is it not so 1” 

“ Cut them down to a man — to a man I say !’ 


grasping the arm of his subordinate, and gazing as 
if he would look through him. “ If they surrender 
ihey shall be spared — if they fight, they must die ; 
evening is drawing on, and we cannot stop to parley. 

\ handful of foolish men must not detain us. Ride 
forward and summon them, say I have sworn to 
put all who resist to the sword, but that I will pro- 
ject the peaceful. Go.” 

With a piece of white cloth, attached to a staff, 
Keintre rode for the lodge. Approaching within hail 
he halted, and cried out — 

“What ho! within there.” 

After a minute or two, the Ancient thrust his 
head through the aperture of which we have pre- 
viously spoken, and asked. 

“ What wouldst thou V' 

“ Who commands here ]” 

“ Sidney Trevor, a captain in the service of the 
Lord Proprietary.” 

“ Pray, oblige me by saying to Captain Trevor, 
that Hugh Keintre, a lieutenant under Captain 
Claiborne, but for the nonce a peaceful herald, 
craves a few words with him.” 

“ The Ancient disappeared, and presently Trevor 
occupied the place the former had left.” 

“ Well, sir,” said Trevor, “ be brief; your busi- 
ness.” 

“ In the name of William Claiborne, I demand 
the surrender of this place, with yourself and all , 
under your command. Complying with this, the 
persons of all shall be respected — a refusal can only 
bring on certain destruction.” 

“ Say to Captain Claiborne,” replied Trevor, “ in 
the name of all who are with me, we defy him. 
He demands our surrender, let him come and take 
us. For myself, my duty is to fight rebels, not to 
parley with them, I have no farther answer, sir.” 

Keintre lifted his beaver in token of adieu, and 
rode back to his commander. 

“ By this hand ! a gallant fellow,” said he, ad- 
miringly, “ and one whom we can only gain by 
hard knocks.” 

Now that the gage of battle had been lifted, the 
resoluie little band prepared to meet, courageously, 
the dangers they had dared. 

“ Hither, Tony,” said the Ancient, cheerfully. 
“Haste thee, man, and fasten this buckle in some 
sort of guise, my sword belt hath given way. A 
fierce time on’t we shall have anon, Cornwallis. 
Aha ! lad, thou shalt see how loyal men can fight. 
Keep a sharp lookout, good Ralph, for the knaves 
are mettlesome — not so tight, Tony, easy, easy — 
that will do. Now to thy post, man, and be chary 
of thy powder. What are they doing, Ralph P’ 

“ Keintre is speaking to Claiborne, who beckons 
up some one in the rear, I cannot see who, for 
there is a tree in the way.” 

“ It is an Indian — a stout man, a chief as I judge 
by his ornaments,” said Trevor. 

“ I see him now ! it is Meetoqua the Werowance. 
Claiborne points toward us, and then to the clump 
of trees on the right. The chief moves away and 
is !o.«t to me again.” 

“ Stand fast, my men !” exclaimed Trevor; “ we 
-hall have work soon.” 

“ They are coming,” said Forster. “ Harken !” 

A shrill, prolonged yell suddenly burst upon the 
previous stillness; and then,/ome twenty Indians 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


93 


dashed forwards at irregular distances from each 
other, but all in the same direction. 

“ Stand aside, Ralph, and let me see,” said the 
Ancient. “ They are making for the trees, Corn- 
wallis, a snug halting place, but too long a distance 
for their arrows, unless they can reach the loose 
rocks midway between.” 

“ Look well to that, Ancient,” exclaimed Trevor, 

“ for there evidently lies the danger.” 

“ Aye, sir,” replied the old soldier, “ we must try 
our best to keep them where they are, and I think 
w'e can do it — Master Cornwallis, station a few of 
your best marksmen at the loops above me, we be- 
low here will pick ofl' all the knaves we can.” 

There was a pause of a few minutes, during 
which Keintre rejoined his troop, and skirting, at a 
respectable distance, the little fortress, took up a 
position upon a ravine in its rear, and as near to 
the mouth of the defile as was possible, without 
being endangered by the fire of the besieged. 

The besiegers, therefore, were at this time in 
three distinct parties, and arranged as follows: — 
Claiborne, with the main body, occupied that por- 
tion of the valley lying in front and west of the 
lodge. On the north, within a few hundred yards 
of the beseiged, were a portion of the Indians, under 
Meetoqua, well protected from the fire of the 
colonists by the trees, behind which the former had 
esconsed themselves ; while toward the south-east 
were stationed the troop of horse commanded by 
Keintre. Within the lodge a corresponding change 
was made ; the men were formed into three divi- j 
sions; Trevor opposing himself on the west to 
Claiborne. To the Ancient was given to watch 
the Indians, Cornwallis being at the loops above, 
while Forster was stationed so as to keep Keintre 
in view and frustrate his proceedings if possible. 

“ Thou canst bear us a hand occasionally, Ralph, 
if we are hard pressed,” said the Ancient; “for 
Keintre will do nothing but intercept us if we seek 
to escape. I would he were elsewhere, with all 
my heart, for if we are compelled to leave this 
place in haste, there, although unknown to him, 
lies our way.” 

“ And can we leave here, except by the opening 
above 1” exclaimed Forster. “ I see but oneway 
out, and that is hopeless in the face of so many.” 

The Ancient smiled. “ Thinkest thou,” said 
he, “ the builders of this little fortalice, reared for 
themselves a cage wherein they might be caught 
like silly birds 1 Patience ! there is a way, though 
at ^present too dangerous to risk, even if desired. 

must decoy Master Keintre hitherward, or 
night must shield us, before we can remove from 
this place with any chance of safety. Ha! who 
fired I” 

As he put the question, a wild yell rose from 
without, and several arrows pierced the loops and 
fixed themselves firmly in the opposite wall. Pro- 
fiting by the suddenness of this attack, several 
Indians attempted to gain the shelter of the rocks, 
midway, but a rapid fire from Cornwallis and his 
men, compelled them to fall back, bearing with them 
several who were severely wounded. Claiborne, as 
if desirous of testing the bravery of his Indian 
allies, or perhaps, from some lingering remains of 
old chivalric feeling, unwilling to bring his large 
force to bear upon such a mere handful of antago- 


nists. still stood aloof, contenting himself w-ith 
watching the progress of the fray, and guarding 
against the escape of those whom he considered as 
fated to become his prisoners. 

Trevor was not unobservant of this inactivity on 
the part of the rebel leader, and, divining the cause, 
sought to turn it to account by simply leaving a 
couple of men on that side, as lookouts, while him- 
self and the rest reinforced the Ancient. 

“I fear me, sir,” said Anas, gravely, “it will be 
a matter of serious difficulty to keep yon salvages 
from the cover of those rocks. We have baffled 
them once, thanks to the quickness of Master Corn- 
wallis, but thou wilt see anon some scheme devised 
by them to distract our attention, whereby they 
will gain their end. Even now they are clustering 
among the trees on our right, and I doubt not are 
maturing some develish plan to circumvent our 
vigilance.” 

As Trevor looked in the direction pointed out, he 
saw a considerable group gathered closely together, 
and listening with apparently stoical indifference to 
a tall, stoutly framed chief, whom he immediately 
recognized as the one he had previously seen in 
conversation with Claiborne. Presently the con- 
ference broke up, and they all rapidly disappeared 
among the trees. 

“Every man to his post,” said Trevor, “our 
only safety lies in a quick eye and a ready hand.” 

“ Aye, sir,” replied the Ancient, “ a stout heart 
and plenty of powder may do much yet. Keep 
well from the loops, my lads, glancing through 
them in a sidling manner, thus — not covering them 
with your bodies, fora salvage’s arrow hath a sharp 
barb.” 

“ Pardie I” exclaimed Lightfoot, laughing. “ If 
any gallant hath a sw'eet tooth for bears meat, 
yonder comes an unconscious victim to his hand. 
’Slid ! but my fingers itch to draw the trigger on 
him ; see with what a cautious gravity he peers out 
I from that narrow hollow way. A plilhoric fellow, 

1 i’ faith, with slow measured gait — now he stops 
and shuffles about among the grass — and now 
comes slowdy waddling on like a ” 

“ Peace I” said the Ancient, quickly, taking up 
his harquebuss ; “ thou shalt see the quality of this 
bear meat ere long, if it jumps with thy humor, and 
thou wilt then find, I trow, there are bears in these 
forest passes, who do not always wear a hairy hide, 
or walk on all fours. Take heed now.” 

The old soldier sighted his weapon and fired ; 
and immediately afterwards was heard a smothered 
shriek of agony, and Lightfoot saw the black skin 
suddenly collapse, roll over and over, and after a 
few writhings and contortions, lie prone upon the 
ground, shrunk, flably and motionless. 

“ All are not bears that seem so,” said the An- 
cient, coolly, turning on his heel and dropping the 
butt of his piece on the ground, preparatory to 
recharging it. 

“ Wonderful !” exclaimed Lightfoot, opening his 
eyes to their utmost width in his astonishment. 
“ Wonderful ! I could have sworn it was a bear.” 

“ Thou art but a new sojourner in this wilder- 
ness,” returned the Ancient, “ and hast yet much 
to learn touching the craft of these barbarians. 
Ah, me ! I am old now, and indifferently skilled in 
their ways, crooked though they be. Many are the 


94 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


battles T have fought against them in my time ; and 
I remember, as it were but yesterday, one on the 
Roatu’ke, when Captain John Smith, hemmed in 
by numbers, and with nothing but his sword, by 
seizing an Indian boy and holding him as a buckler 
against the shafts of his enemies, kept them at bay 
until he was entangled in a morass, and was thus 
taken captive. But, I shame to say it, the salvages 
have men of our own blood to back them now, and 
wo to dear St. Mary’s, should they ever gain the 
mastery. But what new thing is this I” 

A dozen or more of the Indians simultaneously 
rushing out from the wood, spread themselves right 
and left, and taking such advantage of the scattered 
rocks as offered, kept up a vigorous and continued 
volley with their arrows — piercing every loop and 
cranny, and for a moment compelling the beseiged 
to withdraw from their places of watch. This was 
as anticipated, and now, under the protection thus 
afforded them, another body of the Indians once 
more attempted to take possession of the rocks 
from which they had been already twice foiled. 

“ Up, every man and fire !” exclaimed Trevor, 
and at the word, every loop and aperture vomited 
forth destruction, and with a howl of baffled rage, 
the savages reluctantly withdrew to the safer re- 
cesses of the wood. 

But another and more dreaded enemy was now 
about to enter the list against the dauntless little 
band of colonists. Claiborne, exasperated at the 
ill success of his allies, now prepared to lead for- 
ward his whole force ; and as Trevor and the An- 
cient saw the movement, they involuntarily ex- 
changed glances which spate almost as plainly as 
uttered words, of the resolution to defend to the 
last, even though defence was now felt to be almost 
utterly hopeless. 

“ If Keintre would but move nearer,” said the 
Ancient, “ we might yet baffle them, for behind 
those stones, in an outlet leading near to the deep 
gulley, by the side of v?hich he is posted, but 
while he remains where he is, it were madness to 
attempt it.” 

‘•We can, at least, defend this place to the death, 
my friend,” said Trevor,with resolute but mournful 
seriousness. To surrender would be at once to 
stamp the character of the war, for so great would 
be the panic that even this trivial success, on the 
part of the arch rebel, Claiborne, wmuld sway many 
of the timid, and of the lukewarm, and incline 
them to favor him from whom, with a differing re- 
sult, they would otherwise have kept aloof.” 

The Ancient cast his eyes upon the ground for a 
few minutes, and then said in his usual quaint 
manner of half soliloquy : “ The years of a man’s 
life are three-score and ten, and whoso attaineth 
that good old age, is a ripe ear and fit for the sickle 
of the reaper; but all in this place, save myself, are 
in the blossom of life, and the harvest is haply 
afar off. Now, it were but right that to them 
should be given the choice of a treaty with the foe, 
or to abide the issue of the onset. For myself, I 
have an antiquated humor which binds me to the 
observance of two things, and the first is, my duty 
towards my Maker — and the second, loyalty to the 
Proprietary.” 

“ We will hold out to the last.” exclaimed Fors- 
ter, “for the honor of St. Mary’s.” 


“ And thou 1” said the Ancient, turning earnestly 
towards Cornwallis. 

“ Will abide with Trevor and yourself, come 
what may.” 

“Like aright Cornwallis!” exclaimed the old 
soldier heartily. “ And ye, my friends — what say 
yel” 

“ Huzza for St. Mary’s I” was the prompt re- 
sponse. 

“ Huzza for all the saints in the calendar !” 
shouted the Player ; “ and St. Mercury in particu- 
lar, as he was a light- foot, I believe, and, therefore, 
as a kinsman, bound to take me under his especial 
protection. So if all swim down stream, I go with 
them, for the sake of company. And now, my be- 
loved kinsman, St. Mercury, have ” 

“ Peace, ribald !” said the Ancient, sternly. — 
“ Look yonder, is this a time for scurril jests ?” 

“ Coming, sure enough ; but as motley becomes 
me more than sable, why should 1 dofl’my garb for 
all 1 Caged we may be, but I trow we are not yet 
caught; and drawing badgers, I am told, is a some- 
what desperate game : or, as Master Hurtle, of the 
Paris Garden, would say — ‘ Who plays with bears 
must have stout ribs for the hugging.’ ” 

' Hoping to terrify them into submission, Clai- 
borne commenced, and continued for some time, a 
heavy fire upon the Lodge. But finding this did 
not succeed in bringing them to terms, and cha- 
grined at the resistance they made, he at length set 
about seriously to put his previous threat into exe- 
cution, and take the place by storm. With this 
view, he had some rough ladders hastily construct- 
ed, and also despatched a considerable number of 
his men to gather up dry and tolerably stout sticks 
of wood, and bind them into bundles, by means of 
withes, after the manner of fascines. I’hese bun- 
dles, light of weight, and about the size of a man’s 
body, he intended should be carried as shields to 
protect the advancing party from the bullets of the 
colonists, and were afterwards to be applied, if ne- 
cessary, as a means of firing the Lodge. 

Matters now began to assume a serious aspect 
against the inmates of the devoted little fortress ; 
and even Trevor and the Ancient both looked a 
shade graver, as they witnessed preparations which 
they knew it was impossible successfully to with- 
stand. Even the Indians, taking the example of 
Claiborne’s men, were preparing themselves with a 
like means of defence against the bullets of the 
besieged ; and clumsy as this kind of shield appear- 
ed, the Ancient well knew it would answer the in- 
tended purpose. 

“We are in a net. Captain Trevor,” said the 
old soldier; “ and I see no means of breaking the 
meshes. We must fight like brave and loyal men, 
as long as we can, and each commend his soul to 
Him who gave it; for of Claiborne we can expect 
no mercy. In fifteen minutes they will be upon us.” 

A long and solemn silence succeeded. Every 
eye that could near the loops was anxiously strain- 
ed to watch the progress of events from without. 

Sunk in deep thought, the Ancient sat resting 
his cheek upon his hand, and the whispers that oc- 
casionally passed from one to the other around him 
fell on his ear unheeded. A touch from Trevor at 
once aroused him. 

“ To your arms, my friend ; Claiborne is in mo- 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


95 


tion. We must do our best ; haply we may yetj 
be relieved.” | 

The Ancient rose instantly, and approaching the j 
loop, looked for the space of a minute upon the i 
approaching enemy. A glance at Keinlre showed 
that the latter still remained stationary. 

If I could withdraw him nearer,” said the old 
soldier half aloud, “ we might escape. The sun is 
just going down, and once beyond the troopers, a 
few minutes would place us in comparative safety. 

I have it — a ’kerchief — a white ’kerchief — let us see 
if there be any virtue in it, for it is our last and 
only chance.” 

“ Surely you would not surrender us !” exclaimed 
Trevor, indignantly, as he saw the Ancient com- 
posedly fasten the ’kerchief to the barrel of a cara- 
bine, and thrust it through the loop. 

“ A ruse,” replied the Ancient. “ Watch ye, and 
tell me who comes forward.” 

“ They have halted, and are now in consultation. 
A trooper spurs frpm Keintre’s ranks towards us.” 
And sure enough, the galloping of a horse came 
nearer, and a voice cried aloud from without — “ Do 
you surrender 1” 

“To none but Captain Claiborne in person. — 
Let him come forward ; with none other will we 
hold parley,” promptly replied the Ancient. “ And 
hark ye, my friend, see that yon red devils keep 
back until we make our terras, or we will assuredly 
fire upon them.” 

The man rode off, and was soon seen in Clai- 
borne’s presence. The Ancient kept his eye upon 
the troop of Keintre, but as yet they moved not. 

“ The chance is lost, I fear,” said he. 

“No, there is hope yet,” said Trevor. “See, 
Claiborne signals Keintre to advance.” 

“ True, true. There is a stir among them. God 
be praised, we shall outwit them yet. Forster, 
look thou to the heaving those stones aside to the 
left of the trickling spring — silently — silently — but 
with what speed ye may : quick — quick — for they 
are nearing us.” 

“ Claiborne is riding up,” said Trevor. 

“ Keep your post. Captain Trevor, and hold him 
in parley a few minutes, and all will yet be well. 
Bravely done, my lads ! Heave with a will — so. 
Now, Forster, do thou lead the way — dive down, 
man, on all fours, it is but little larger than a rabbit 
burrow, but it will do. No confusion, men ; there 
will be time enough for all. Arthur do thou bring 
up the rear; and Forster, when you reach the 
blessed light of heaven once more, make for the , 
ravine, running up it until you touch the woods. 
A little beyond, you will find the horses fastened — 
mount, and in good order await our coming.” 

While these orders were being executed, Clai- 
borne had reached Keintre, and despatched him to 
the Lodge. The Rebel Lieutenant saluted Trevor 
gracefully, and after some few words had passed, } 
made known that his chief demanded an instant ! 
and unconditional surrender. 

“ Terms which are too hard to be borne,” ex- 
claimed Trevor, with a show of indignation. “ Say 
to Captain Claiborne we ask first, that we shall t 
have full protection from his savage allies; and j 
secondly, that we be allowed to march out, retaining I 
our arms. These proposals being acceded to, he 1 
shall have possession,” ' 


Keintre bowed and retired ; but almost instantly 
returned. 

“On no other terms,” said he, “will Captain 
Claiborne hear of a surrender, than those he first 
proposed — immediate and unconditional.” 

“ Enough, sir,” replied Trevor, gravely. “ Let 
Captain Claiborne, then, take us if he can; but let 
him also remember we are desperate men.” 

I’he colloquists separated. Keintre rode back to 
make his report, while Trevor descended from the 
aperture, and joined the Ancient. 

“ Now let us be off with such speed as we may. 
That last hint of thine touching our desperation, 
will make Claiborne cautious. Come, Trevor, or 
our men in their inipatience may expose themselves, 
and so ruin all.” 

Impressed with the belief that the resistance 
would be a bloody one, Claiborne attacked the 
Lodge with the utmost cautiousnesl*; and when, at 
length, wearied with the ominous silence, he gave 
orders for the men to take their ladders, and storm 
the place at all hazards, his bitter disappointment 
was only exceeded by his rage, on their reporting 
the cage empty, and the birds flown. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

DcniNo the events just related, the goodly city 
of St. Mary’s had been kept in a state of the greatest 
excitement, by the sudden and unexpected arrest of 
Dandie and his accomplices. The vigorous mea- 
sures pursued by the Governor, in ferreting out the 
secret friends of Claiborne, had the effect not only 
of putting an end to their evil machinations for the 
time being, but also to compel many of them to 
assume an appearance of loyalty, however much 
that assumption might have been foreign to their 
predilections. 

The mystery which attached itself to the move- 
ments of Claiborne, kept the little devoted garrison 
continually on the qui vive. Mounted patrols were 
constantly on horseback, scouring the country 
around for information, returning at intervals to be 
relieved by others, and bearing with them to the 
Governor such rumors as they had gleaned from 
stragglers on their route. A number of men, under 
Captain Cornwallis, were picketted within the 
gates, ready to spring to horse at a moment’s warn- 
ing. The fiery Talbot, with his sturdy retainers, 
kept watch and ward at the Fort; while a third 
party, composed of citizens and servants of the 
Proprietary, under the vcneiable Branthwayte, were 
held in reserve, to act as circumstances might dic- 
tate. But, in spite of all alarms, the day was now 
wearing near to its close, without any positive 
tidings having been received, either of the detach- 
ment sent out in search of Claiborne, or of the 
arch rebel himself. 

Next to Master Clipton, the diminutive barber, 
none were more eager in their inquiries touching 
the movements of the insurgents, than the portly 
host of the Red Lion, Master Peter Halsy. That 
worthy individual, having had his fancy roused by 
visions of costly wines at smugglers’ prices, had for 
several days been busily employed, either by deputy, 
or in person, in making diligent inquiries concern- 


96 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


ing the whereabouts of his honest friend, Blundell ; 
and, believing the latter to be in some way connect- 
ed with the rebellion, the covert questions of mine 
host were not confined to the Seaman alone, but 
extended to all the disaffected, who, joining the 
standard of Claiborne, were threatening the peace 
of St. Mary’s. It was well nigh dusk, when, wea- 
ried by such unwonted exertions, the ponderous 
Boniface settled himself for the night in a well 
stuffed chair, and crossing his hands over the most 
rotund portion of his body, suffered his imagination 
to run riot in endeavoring to account for the sudden 
disappearance of his marine friend. 

“ I would give a groat to know what hath become 
of him,” said he, mentally. “ Surely the jovial 
merman hath not sold his wines to him of the 
Bell. Nay, that cannot be; or that low fellow 
would have held up his head with a sickly smirk 
as he passed me to-day, like he did when he over- 
reached me in the matter of the Canary, which the 
knave wheedled from the Spanish captain last Hal- 
low Mass morning. Tut, tut, the Bell hath it not. 
Perhaps the close guard kept upon the river hath 
alarmed my sea nettle, and he has thought it safer 
to lie perdu for a little while ; and yet he looked 
not like a man easily frightened. Perhaps he hath 
lent Claiborne his brigantine, to bring over some of 
his wasps from Kent. Humph, that is not unlikely, 
or else — Well, Simon, bast thou heard any news'!” 
This abrupt question was put to a youth in the 
dress and white apron of a tapster, who unceremo- 
niously entered the sanctum, where his portly em- 
ployer sat cogitating. 

The only reply made by the lad was by putting 
the fore finger of his right hand upon his lip, and 
jerking over his shoulder with the thumb of his 
left; and scarcely was the latter action, indicative 
of the presence of some one, made, before Ingle 
strode quickly into the room, and motioning the 
silent tapster to depart, fastened the door upon him, 
and drawing a chair close to the side of the aston- 
ished publican, seated himself in it without uttering 
a word. 

The first exclamation of mine host on recog- 
nizing the sea habiliments of bis visiter, was a 
joyful one. The second sound that escaped his 
lips, betrayed more of fear. Halsy had hitherto 
seen but the joyous and sarcastic phase of the 
Seaman’s character ; he was now to w'itness tokens 
of its ferocity and blood-thirstiness. The dress of 
Ingle was not different from the one he wore when 
formerly with Halsy, only that it was now soiled 
and disarranged, full of dust, and bearing indica- 
tions of a recent struggle. The shirt collar was 
torn open — wrinkled, and otherwise disfigured, as 
if it had been subjected to a tenacious grasp ; and 
in further corroboration of these appearances, there 
was a recent cut over the Mariner’s right eye, from 
which the blood still trickled, though slowly. 

We have said the first exclamation of Master 
Halsy was one of joy ; the second of fear. He had 
disengaged his bulky carcase from the well cush- 
ioned chair, on the approach of his visiter, with — 

“Ha! my merry runagate — my flying fish — 
iBy*^ 

When, catching in the dim light the expression 
of Ingle’s countenance— dark, demoniac, and full 
of ill-suppressed passion — the inn-keeper sank back 


uneasily into his seat, saying — “Why, Neptune, 
where in the name of St. Nicholas hast thou gotten 
that ill face of thine !” 

“Question me not, yet,” said the other, roughly ; 
“ but bring me a cask of your strongest from your 
cupboard — your strongest — d’ ye hear 1 My tongue 
is parched almost to a cinder.” 

“There it is, bully boy; and now tell me what 
has happened. Some of his Excellency’s prying 
servants, eh !” 

“ May the foul fiend blast his Excellency, and 
all belonging to him !” exclaimed the Seaman, with 
ill-controlled fury. “ Oh, if I had the knave who 
dared to stay me, foot to foot on mine own good 
ship, by the deep sea, he should bite cold steel for 
his meddling.” 

“Only to hear him !” ejaculated Halsy, holding 
up both his hands with a deprecating gesture. 
“ Only to hear him ! — Those mermen think no 
more of oaths and curses, than a drunkard of a 
bottle of blackjack. And his Excellency, too! — 
I wash my hands of such word^; they are danger- 
ous, and disloyal.” 

“ And you treasure them up for the ear of Cal- 
vert — is it so !” The Seaman looked through the 
dim light full in the Publican’s face, as he asked 
the question, and his band, unknown to the other, 
gripped quietly the dagger hidden in his vest. 

“Me! I would scorn to do it. What are oaths! 
— words — words only ; and words are but breath, 
and breath is but air — thin air ; and why should I 
prattle of such an unsubstantial thing as that! — 
Not I, indeed, I mind my own business — make the 
best bargains I can, and speak ill of no man.” 

“ Except him of the Bell,” returned the Seaman, 
with a slightly sarcastic laugh. 

“ Ah, that is in the way of trade — and two of 
a trade, you know — but what of the wines, man! 
Have they taken them from thee ! Surely — surely 
no such ill fortune hath befallen thee as that.” 

“No,” returned the Mariner, relapsing into a 
somewhat more placable mood as his potations in- 
creased ; “they are safe enough, and only wait the 
orders of mine host of the Red Lion, if he but send 
a messenger to St. Inigoes with a letter.” 

“Say no more,” replied Halsy. “Simon will 
do if, and discreetly too,” and the overjoyed Publi- 
can bustled out to summon bis youthful tapster. 

“ The simple fool !” said Ingle, with an expres- 
sion of conteiiipt. “These landsmen are but pup- 
pets after all. — As if I cared for the loss of a few 
wine casks. — Let me see — the messenger must 
wait till Daunton comes to the mouth of the river; 
that will not be long. How if Daunton leave the 
vessel there under good charge, and come up in 
the boats! — Better, I think; and by taking the 
night for it, the Inn-keeper’s man may be made to 
answer any questions that might be asked. It 
shall be so — but here they come.” 

“ Well, my jolly friend, thou seest I have has- 
tened to do thy bidding, and Simon is ready to 
depart at thy pleasure.” 

“For a consideration,” chimed in Simon. “ For 
a consideration look ye. The night — a plague 
upon it — will be a dark one, and the ride not over 
pleasant.” 

“ Out upon thee ! wouldst make terms with thy 
master’s friend!”’ exclaimed the host, indignantly. 


CLAIBORWE THE REBEL. 


97 


** A plague take these unconscionable serving men ; 
they are all alike. — Thou knave, do I not give thee 
to eat and to drink, and wherewith to be clothed! 
and wouldst thou make terms beside !” 

“ As you please, Master,” said the boy, doggedly ; 
“ I don’t want to go. There is Jack Scrope, the 
trooper, rides to St. Inigoes for his Excellency to- 
night; he will do your bidding, an’ you pay him.” 

“ Bring a light,” said Ingle, impatiently. 
“ Thou shalt have a reward, but thou must push off 
at once.” 

“ Oh, that I ’ll do,” replied the boy, quickly, and 
as he brought in the light, he added, significantly, 
“I can outride Jack Scrope, at any time, and fool 
the patrol, too, if you wish it.” 

“ A good lad, said the Seaman, encouragingly. 
** See, here is a broad piece for thee — more gold 
than thou hast ever had before. I trow. Do me 
this service discreetly, and thou shalt have another 
— perhaps two.” 

The boy clutched the gold piece between his 
fingers, and as his keen eyes glistened while gazing 
upon it, his quick wit suggested the question, of 
how much would his Excellency give for a secret, 
to keep which a stranger paid so handsomely. 
And he thought this over and over in his mind 
afterwards; but now he only cunningly laughed, 
and said — “Give me your letter ; yon shall see 
bow soon I can go and come ; I am a will o’ the 
wisp, ain’t I, master 1” 

The letter was soon written and sealed, and with 
all necessary directions for its safe conduct, the boy 
was despatched on his errand. 

The boy being gone, the conversation between 
the Mariner and his burly associate assumed a 
lighter character. The former, with that shrewd 
tact which had been taught him by the exigencies 
of his roving life, soon lulled to rest the other’.s un- 
easiness — except, at such times when the name of 
the Governor being touched on, Ingle would break 
out into his customary fierce imprecations and in- 
vectives, but this was not often. 

“And so they have clapt Master Dandie under 
hatches, hey! and a dozen others, you tell ihe! — 
What were their friends about, that they suflered 
this thing!” 

“Alack, sir, what would you have! Truly, 
methinks their friends were wise to make no stir in 
the matter. If Master Dandie and his co-mates 
have done wrong, it is but just they should suffer 
the consequences of their wrong doing. As for 
me, I neither meddle nor make.” 

“ A goodly precaution,” returned the Seaman, 
with a sneer. “ Well, well, I seek no quarrel with 
you for your prudence, so long as you keep your 
own counsel, and interfere not with others ; and 
now, I remember me, what hath become of that 
buxom maiden, Amy Roberts !” 

“ Ho ! ho ! ho ! art thou there, truepenny ! — a 
fair damsel, is she not ! There was a rumor — 
mind me, only a rumor — of an over rough wooing 
in that quarter; and young Waters, and Gossip 
Clipton, would have it a seafaring man was the 
wooer. — Was it thou ! — Nay, I press thee not. — 
But tidings to such effect coming to the Governor’s 
ears, he hath given her an asylum at the Castle 
until such time as Ralph Forster returns, to whom 
it is said she is betrothed.” 


Again the b^’ow of the Seaman grew black as 
midnight, and, with a furious oath, he started from 
the chair and paced the little room. Here was 
another item added to his cherished account of 
vengeance ; another spur to goad him on to the 
consummation of the act he had sworn to perform. 

“ By the deep sea,” he burst out, “ but he shall 
rue the day he ever crossed the path of me or mine. 
Am I to be always foiled! — Oh, for my bull-dogs ! 
Oh, for my bull-dogs !” 

“ Hush ! — hush !” exclaimed Halsy, in an agony 
of terror ; “ I beseech you do not speak in this 
way. VV hy, what hath come over you, my sea 
friend! — Thou art ill; let me seek the Doctor.” 

“Avast! — avast!” said the Mariner; “none of 
your Doctors for me. Look ye. Master Halsy,” 
he added, with excellent dissimulation ; “ look ye, 
my friend, is it not enough to drive a man mad! 
Here I came a stranger into the Colony, seeking 
to sell my wares to such honest men as you, and a 
few more whom I could name ; and because I de- 
sire not to pay him taxes for my havings, I am 
hunted through the forest like a wild beast — grap- 
pled with, and wounded, and compelled to hide 
myself until dark, so that I might reach here in 
safety.” 

“A hard case, I own,” said mine host; “but 
thou shouldst not swear against him so terribly. 
By my life, I was in bodily fear myself.” 

“ Tut ! you should not heed me. We cleavers 
of the salt sea foam are rude of speech ; but our 
hearts are kindly, Master Halsy, as thou shalt find 
when our wine casks come ashore. But I must 
change this gay dress of mine for a plainer — canst 
thou not help me to one ! I will pay thee in good 
gold, be sure on ’t — a suit such as your city 
dwellers wear, with a broad sombrero to keep off 
the sun.” 

“A reasonable precaution, I think,” said the 
host; “and you shall have one betimes in the 
morning, for I would not have you discovered.” 

“ For your own sake.” 

“ Ho ! ho ! ho! what a man you are.” 

“ A very sleepy one, and weary withal ; so if 
you can find me a corner where I can throw my- 
self down for the night, I should feel the fresher 
for it, by the time our messenger returns.” 

“ A corner ! thou shalt have a dainty room, and 
a soft bed of feathers, my worthy Neptune. c3ome 
this way.” 

Preceding his companion with a light, Halsy 
ascended a fi ght of stairs. Throwing open a 
chamber door he pointed to a bed, and bidding the 
Seaman good night, left him, as he imagined, to his 
repose. 

But no repose was to seal the eyelids of Ingle. 
No sooner was he left alone and made secure from 
interruption, than he walked noiselessly to the win- 
dow, and throwing it open, looked out upon the 
night. The moon was shining brightly, and he 
saw immediately that the room he occupied was in 
the rear of the building, for the garden lay beneath 
him, and what was more to his wish, the roof of a 
shed slanted up the wall to within a few feet. 
Straining himself forward to examine objects more 
fully, a low breathing caught his ear, and then he 
saw, or fancied he saw, the dusky shadow of some 
one, suddenly thrown out from the angle of the 


98 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


house across the garden path. With a muttered 
curse he hastily withdrew from observation, and 
closing the window easily, dung himself on the 
bed without undressing. 

But the impatient spirit of the man kept him 
restless even there. All the bad passions of his 
bad nature were active, and goading him almost to 
desperation. The loss of young Cornwallis, whom 
he had detained for a purpose scarcely known to 
himself; the quarrel with Claiborne and its igno- 
minious result ; his late affray with one of the 
patrols ; his burning hatred towards the Governor, 
heightened, if possible, by the protection the latter 
had extended to the woman he soogbt to wrong. 
All these things came to him like evil spirits, 
haunting and torturing him ; until at length, as if 
unable to bear these reminiscences, he sprang up 
and again looked cautiously out. Not a sound fell 
upon his ear; the shadow, if shadow there had 
been, had disappeared ; and with a sternly com- 
pressed lip, and a knotted brow, he examined his 
pistols again ; secreted them upon his person ; 
placed a chair under the window, and letting him- 
self down upon the roof of the shed, descended the 
latter with a quiet step ; leaped from its edge upon 
the soft mould of the garden, and from thence was 
soon flitting, at a quick pace, through the silent and 
irregularly built street. In his excitement, as he 
passed along, a strange apprehension seemed to fill 
his mind ; for once, or twice, he imagined he heard 
footsteps following close behind him, although halt- 
ing suddenly, and looking back, there was nothing 
to be seen. Keeping close under the projections 
of the houses wherever he could, and taking ad- 
vantage of the shade, afforded by such trees as 
were occasionally to be found beautifying the side 
walk, he thridded successfully a part of the main 
street ; and then, making a circuit of a few smaller 
streets, after doubling two or three times as if to 
elude observation, he at length again emerged 
upon the principal thoroughfare. A horse patrol 
clattering up the street, startled him for a moment, 
but slipping into a shadow with his face to the wall, 
the man rode on, unconscious of the presence of 
any one but himself. Relieved from his scrutiny, 
Ingle once more proceeded with the same caution, 
until he had nearly reached the gate of the fort. 
Here, however, his presence of mind was put to a 
severe test ; for, while creeping along the most ex- 
posed portion of the space between himself and the 
fort, the gate opened, and another horseman sallied 
out. For a moment Ingle was dubious what to 
do. Flight could not save him, and his pistols 
would raise a dangerous alarm : but, in this emer- 
gency, his eyes lighted upon the trunk of a tree 
lying near. To leap towards it, and fling himself 
prone on the ground, was the work of an instant, 
and thus listening, breathlessly, until the sound of 
the horse’s feet had died away in the distance, he 
once more escaped the danger, which even he felt 
to have been peculiarly imminent. Gaining the 
walls of the fort, he moved round them with a bent 
body, until he reached the little gate which led into 
the garden. This he tried to force, but it resisted 
his efforts ; he now applied his dagger to the bolt 
of the lock, but this was equally ineffectual. 

With a hasty ebullition of wrath, he continued 
his circuit of the walls, taking such observation of 


objects near them as the moonlight permitted. 
About thirty feet from the eastern angle of the 
wall, grew a magnificent oak, whose enormous 
branches, spreading far and wide, reached nearly to 
the walls itself. This tree Ingle examined atten- 
tively, and after comparing distances, he said men- 
tally,— “ We could do it, — a few men in the tops 
to keep the coast clear ; the spring of those long 
limbs would carry the others over the wall ; and 
then, with the knife, and the hand, and the bull- 
dogs of the main, would I write the name of the 
avenger upon the dainty city of St. Mary’s. Now, 
if Claiborne draws off a part of the fighting men, 
as I doubt not he will, what hinders us from trying 
it to-morrow night ] Daunton will be here, and 
the bloody hands ; and if we fail, by the deep sea 
I’ll try the knife, even in their very midst. They 
can but slay me when the deed is done.” 

Turning on his heel, with the same caution as 
before, he retraced his steps ; and, passing the little 
plain without discovery, entered the main street. 
Almost as he did so, a horseman dashed past to- 
ward the fort. Ingle looked hastily round for a 
shelter, but the man was too intent upon his errand 
to notice him. It was merry Philip Wharton, who 
had been sent by Trevor for aid, as already known 
to the reader. Nothing further transpired to check 
his progress until near the garden gate, when sud- 
denly he heard sounds of a large body of men ap- 
proaching. It was Cornwallis and his mounted 
men, who, the moment Wharton had delivered 
himself of his errand, had been dispatched by the 
Governor to the assistance of the gallant little party, 
with the promise of a further reinforcement at an 
early hour of the morning. With an execration 
on the Governor and his friends, Ingle saw them 
pass ; and then, clambering up the shed, he reached 
his own room in safety. Scarcely had he disap- 
peared, when Neenah, the Indian girl, glided down 
the garden walk, and entering the little rustic sum- 
mer-house, closed silently the door. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

It may well be supposed that the events of the 
night, as already related, created on the morrow no 
little sensation among the worthy Burgesses of 
St. Mary’s. 

From early dawn many of them had been astir; 
and numberless were the questions asked by the 
citizens of each other, relative to the strength of 
Claiborne, and the purposes of the Governor. 
That matters were drawing to a crisis was evident ' 
now to the most stolid imagination ; but, wh( ther 
Calvert would be able to successfully withstarid the 
approaching rebels, appeared doubtful to all. 

Among the many eager disputants, dispersed in 
motley groups throughout the city, we shall refer 
only to our old acquaintances. Master Clipton the 
barber, Quiet Waters, and a few others, among 
the most conspicuous of the latter, being the man 
previously designated as the citizen in Grey Frieze, 
These worthies, full of their subject, were standing 
about the hour of noon beneath the pent house, 
attached to a smithy within call of the Barber’s 
house; and having each narrated all he knew, 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


99 


and imagined a great deal he did not know at 
all, had fallen, as men will, into an argument, 
and thereupon commenced the subject de novo. 

“ But I tell you it is so, Las’, surely I know,” 
said Quiet Waters. “ Did f not see master Whar- 
ton, with mine own eyes, gallop past about mid- 
night, and his horse was jaded and had well nigh 
stumbled near Saunders Goodin’s pump, but that 
he kept him up by a jerk of his rein ; and Jekyl, 
the house boy at the Castle, told me a little after 
breakfast this morning, that Claiborne was march- 
ing hither with full three thousand men ; and that 
Captain Cornwallis had gone out with his troop to 
fight him.” 

“ Poor Jekyl must have been as frightened as 
you are now, to tell such a tale as that,” replied 
Grey Frieze. “Three thousand men, why where 
could he gather so large an army 1 Why it would 
take all the Colonists among the plantations to 
make up so many. Three hundred you mean.” 

“ It was three something, — thousand I think, 
though I wont be certain, — a great many I am 
sure ; for I did not stop to finish my breakfast 
after he told me. So I know it was a very large 
number.” 

“ That does not follow. Had he said only three, 
it would have spoiled your appetite. But the news 
from St. Inigoes.” 

“ I know that — let me speak — I know that,” 
thrust in the Barber, eagerly. “ You see there was 
a boat came up the river last night full of men, 
fierce looking sailors ; and somehow or other, the 
Governor was told they were part of Ingle’s crew, 
and he believed it, because Jack Scrope nearly 
caught Ingle himself in the afternoon, and though 
Ingle escaped, Jack cut him on the head in a dread- 
ful manner. I only wish I had been there, I would 
have shown him,” and the little Barber began to 
wax valorous, when a shrill cry was heard. 

“ Clipton, why Clipton.” 

“ Coming, my dear,” exclaimed he. “ As I was 
saying, the boat was supposed to be Ingle’s, and 
the Governor ” 

“ Clipton, you wretch !” screamed his wife. 

“ Directly, my dove. The Governor sent to the 
Collector, and the Collector to the Fort, and the 
soldier in command ” 

“ If you do n’t come, I will fetch you with a 
murrain to you.” 

“ One minute — one little minute. The soldier 
in command,” he continued, speaking rapidly, “ he 
gathered his men, brought a falcon silently to the 
shore, and hiding themselves behind the bushes, 
waited till the boat came up. It was moonlight, 
and presently they heard the dip of oars, softly, 
softly, nearer, nearer, and then they sung out ” 

“ You outrageous good for naught — if I have to 
fetch you, sorely will you repent it ! Do you hear, 
Clipton 1” 

“Indeed I do, my darling. What shall I do — 
coming — coming — where did I leave off]” 

“ The soldiers sung out.” 

“ Oh, yes — and they would not stop, and so the 
Inigoes men fired — and the others fired back, and 
then was hot work, I tell you ; but Corporal, 
what’s his name ] pointed the falcon — and bang 
it went and tore the boat all to pieces, and then 
the men that were not killed floundered into the 
water, and so, and so, then they surrendered.” 


“ ril surrender you — you prate-a-pacc— you 
spotten herring — you — there take that, and that, 
and that !” exclaimed the Virago, coming up with 
a small stick in her hand. 

“ Good wife,” exclaimed the Barber, dolorously, 
“prythee Madge, hold you now ; I was coming — 
be sure on’t — beat me no more — we shall all get 
whipping enough if Claiborne comes.” 

“ Horae — home — I ’ll teach you to disobey. 
Home, to your business, people must be shaved 
whether Claiborne rules or Calvert. 

“ Well, I would not put up with so much beat- 
ing as that,” said Quiet Waters, turning pale. 

“ Why, what would you do !” said the Grey 
Freize. 

“ I — I do n’t know — yes — no I would n’t — yes, 
I would run away.” 

“ Better take a cudgel and give her a good sound 
drubbing,” returned the other. 

But the thoughts and feelings of the Gossips, 
were now to be turned into a different and far more 
exciting channel. By the capture of Ingle’s asso- 
ciates, that worthy found himself in a situation of 
extreme peril. Early information of his messen- 
ger’s treachery reached him by means of Halsy, 
whose eagerness to obtain the smuggled wines, led 
him to be one of the first, that morning, abroad. 

Venting deep and bitter curses, Ingle exchanged 
his grey dress for one of a soberer hue and fashion, 
and secretly left the inn. But the watchful vigi- 
lance of Neenah baffled all his cunning. He was 
dogged from hiding place to hiding place, until at 
length the few friends, to whom he had made him- 
self known, fearful of compromising their own 
safety with the Governor, withdrew their aid, and 
left him upon his own resources for escape. The 
last house at which he had been denied shelter, 
was that of a malcontent Puritan, in whose con- 
version to steady loyalty the imprisonment of his 
brethren, Hutly and Cripps, had no small share. 

Haggard and exhausted, Ingle had already ran 
the gauntlet of half the town before he approached 
the dwelling of another Puritan. Here, at least, he 
hoped for admission and a shelter until nightfall. 
Urgently he beat at the door, for his pursuers, 
whom he had baffled for a moment, were close ap- 
proaching, and there was no time to lose. The 
window above was suddenly flung open and a 
harsh looking head, with the hair cropped close, 
thrust forth. 

“ Who art thou who knockest in this unseemly 
manner, at peaceful mens’ houses 1” demanded the 
man. 

“A friend,” replied Ingle, eagerly; “a true 
friend of the good cause — I prythee unbolt and let 
me in for mine enemies are at hand.” 

“ Nay, nay, not so fast,” said the man, with the 
caution habitual with his sect. “ It is not every 
one who calleth himself friend, is a friend in verity. 
These are troublesome times, and it behooves all 
who would walk securely to take heed lest the 
tempter cause them to falter by the way.” 

“ Open, good friend,” said Ingle, with still more 
earnestness, “ hear you not the voices of mine 
enemies] Wouldst thou give me into the fangs of 
these men ] I, who hate the Governor and all his 
crew, as I hate — ” 

“ Hush, hush,” said the^other, quickly, “ one 
moment, what is thy name ]” 


100 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


“ Ingle, the friend of Claiborne, and thy friend.” 

“ Is it possible V* said the Puritan, “ wait one 
moment and the door shall be open ; but at th’s 
juncture, happening to cast his eyes along the 
street, he saw several men hurriedly approach- 
ing the house. Thus astonished, the Puritan as 
suddenly changed his tone. 

“ Get thee gone, thou man’of Belial !” said he. 
“ I know thee not. What have I to do with such 
as thou ? Avaunt thou Sathanas ! I am a loyal 
man and desire naught but peace. 

In a paroxysm of rage, Ingle turned from the 
man as he shut the window, and venting a deep 
and bitter curse, bore down recklessly upon his 
pursuers with a pistol in each hand. He well knew 
that the unarmed citizens would not dare molest 
him, and they were foremost. But when he reached 
the main street, near to where the Barber and his 
friends had been standing, the detachment sent 
from the Fort to arrest him, were fast nearing him. 
The crowd had by this time became very conside- 
rable, and taking courage, as their numbers increas- 
ed, they began to cry out, “ Seize him, seize him, it 
it is Ingle,” though it was observed that those in 
the rear, among whom were Quiet Waters, and 
our friend the Barber, shouted these daring words 
with far greater luslihooJ than the men who were 
nearer the object of their pursuit. 

The unexpected appearance of the armed force 
from the Castle, made Ingle pause for a moment. 
Hemmed in on both sides, there seemed but little 
hope of escape; but his was not the heart to yield 
lightly. He looked from the crowd to the detach- 
ment of armed men, and as a few stones fell around 
him, and the yells of the people almost deafenec 
' his ears, he sprang right into their midst. Never 
was a charge by a single man more successful. 
Struck with a sudden panic, the crowd recoiled one 
upon the other, and then parting, left him a clear 
passage through their midst. 

Two or three resolute men, indeed, attempted to 
stay him, but the fierce, terrible glare of Ingle’s eye ; 
the murderous determination expressed in his bent 
brow and lightly clenched teeth, and the heavy 
sword which he now swung over his head, let 
them with an involuntary fear to give way to the 
desperado. 

Thus far his flight had been successfully achieved ; 
but the opening he had made through the crowd, 
served also for the passage of several horsemen 
from the Fort, headed by Captain Branthwayte, 
and these, urged by their venerable leader, were now 
pressing towards him at full speed. For a mo- 
ment even the bold heart of the Seaman sunk 
within him. His face was pale as ashes, and he 
gnashed his teeth together. Then he cast about 
him for a good position where he could stand at 
bay and die fighting. But again the love of life 
and the hope of revenge prevailed, and panting 
with his exertions, he dashed down one of the 
shorter streets on his right hand. 

‘‘ If I could only gain the river. If I could only 
gain the river,” he muttered, while in his rear was 
heard the gallop of advancing horse, the cheer 
of Captain Branthwayte, and the shouts of the 
crowd. Exerting his utmost speed, Ingle descended 
the hill, and the river lay in its beauty before him. 
But he utters a sharp cry of despair, for men are 


already placed along its banks to intercept him. 
Baffled in this, he darted along the side path lead- 
ing up and over the steep hill. This he had only 
partially ascended, when he was met by Grey 
Freize, and several others. 

“ It is of no use. Captain Ingle,” said Grey 
Freize, “ we are too many for you — surrender your 
arms.” 

“Take them,” replied Ingle, drawing a pistol 
and discharging it full at the person of his opposer. 

The shot took effect. The man bounded several 
feet into the air, and falling, rolled down the steep 
side of the hill; when those below arrived at its 
base he was dead. 

The supporters of Grey Freize, seeing the fate 
of their comrade, fled with a loud cry ; and Ingle, 
with revived hope, reached the summit of the hill, 
and fled across the plain for the woods beyond. 

But Captain Branthwayte had already divined 
his object. “ To the woods — to the woods, my 
friends,” he shouted. “ Head him and ride him 
down — dead or alive, he must be taken. Then, 
being unable to climb the path by which Ingle had 
thus far escaped them, they rode round the hill, 
and entering the woods beyond, now came career- 
ing towards him. 

Meanwhile the crowd followed close upon Ingle’s 
rear. Maddened by the murder of one of their 
number, and perhaps ashamed of having been put 
to flight by a single desperate man, they now pre- 
sented an appearance of energy and determination 
in the pursuit which gave him but little hope of 
ultimate escape. Before and behind they were 
closing upon him — before the horsemen — behind 
the crowd. The only opening which was not 
guarded was the cliff which overhung the river; 
and this, it seemed in the eyes of all,was sufficient- 
ly guarded by its own extreme height and precip- 
itous sides. To Ingle it was a chance, and the only 
one ; and with a sickly feeling at his heart, he 
again changed his route and made for it in very 
desperation. The crowd closed upon him. The 
crowd and the horsemen, they now formed a semi- 
circle, hemming the Seaman in completely. None 
thought he would leap the cliff, for it went sheer 
down a hundred feet, before it was washed by the 
water of the river. Captain Branthwayte and 
several others now rode up. 

“ Surrender, sir,” said be, “ or we will fire upon 
you. Down with your arms at once !” 

The Seaman hesitated an instant as if in thought. 
His watchful eye saw the multitude gradually nar- 
rowing in the little space between him and them. 

“Hold!” he exclaimed; “to whom do I sur- 
render ]” 

“ To Captain Branthwayte.” 

“ Are you Captain Branthwayte, the particular 
friend of Leonard Calvert 1” 

“The same,” replied Branthwayte, impatiently. 
“ What matters it 1 put down your arms, sir, or we 
fire upon you.’\ 

“ This matters it. Draw nearer, Captain Branth- 
wayte, a little nearer only. Bah ! you a soldier 
and fear.” 

Thus piqued, the old Cavalier drew nearer, and 
as he did so, a gleam of vindictive satisfaction 
passed over the swarthy features of Ingle. 

“ Now, sir, what would you 1” 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


101 


** Only that as I have failed in the Governor, I 
may not miss his especial friend.” 

So saying, Ingle suddenly presented his remain* 
ing pistol and fired. The horse upon which Branth- 
wayte rode, started at the flash, but the noble old 
gentleman retained his seat unhurt. 

“ Villain and murderer !” he exclaimed, spring- 
ing forward. But Ingle, with a yell of disappoint- 
ment, had flung himself from the clifl', and as the 
Captain reached the edge, he heard the Seaman’s 
plunge into the water. Beckoning rapidly, several 
armed men came forward. 

“ Look to your pieces,” said he ; “ are you 
ready 1” 

“ All ready,” was the response. 

“ Watch, and do not shoot until I bid you.” All 
eyes were now eagerly bent on the water, and 
many supposed the Seaman would never appear on 
the surface again in life ; but they were deceived, 
for presently the water was agitated, and then the 
head of the Seaman was seen above it, and he 
struck out with an uncertain stroke. 

“ Once more. Captain Ingle, I call upon you to 
surrender.” 

A shout of defiance was the only answer made 
by Ingle, as gathering strength he struck out more 
lustily.” 

“ Now, sirs, I have done my duty ; do you yours 
— aim — fire !” 

The report of several pieces was heard, and when 
the smoked cleared off, all crowded to watch the 
result. The water was died of a dark crimson, 
but Ingle was not to be seen. Presently, however, 
be rose again to the surface, haggard and ghastly, 
waved his arm feebly, spun round and round like 
a top, and then disappeared for ever. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

After being baffled by the little force under 
Trevor, Claiborne called together his followers and 
encamped for the night. Mortified and disappointed 
by the defection of Ingle, the lukewarmness of the 
religionists, and the time so lately lost by his own 
supineness, he was in no mood to enter into con- 
versation, even with his Lieutenant Keintre. His 
daughter, for whose safety he has been anxious, 
bad now arrived ; but her sad, pale face he studi- 
ously avoided. Once or twice he even wavered in 
his purpose, but a lingering hope that some favora- 
ble demonstration might be made by Ingle, still 
promised a faint chance of success. Claiborne 
well knew the deep and bloody enmity borne by 
the Seaman toward the Governor, and felt satisfied 
that turbulent spirit would shrink at nothing to ac- 
complish his designs. On the morrow, therefore, 
Claiborne again took up his line of march, though 
with diminished numbers; for disaffection was 
rapidly increasing among his followers. Even his 
Indian allies were doubtful. A successful blow 
alone could save him, and with the design of at- 
tempting it, he pushed rapidly on towards St. 
Mary’s. 

In about three hours he halted for rest and re- 
freshment; but they had scarcely disposed them- 
selves, when tidings were brought that the enemy 


was approaching. To retreat now, would have 
been tojose every thing for which he had so long 
toiled, and Claiborne determined to fall back upon 
a position and receive them. I'his was soon done. 

A steep hill side, with a rivulet in front, and a 
morass on his left wing, enabled him to arrange bis 
small force to some advantage. The centre occu- 
pying the slope of the hill, he himself taking the 
command of. The right wing, consisting of such 
horsemen as he could gather together, was intrusted 
to the charge of Keintre; while on the left, among 
the thick brushwood and undergrowth of the marsh 
were concealed his Indian allies. Thus marshalled, 
he awaited the coming of Cornwallis. Nor had 
he to remain long inactive, for shortly after, the 
leading files of the troopers under the gallant old 
Cavalier topped the brow of the hill, and having 
discovered at once the array of Claiborne, halted 
in good order until (’ornwallis should come up. 
While matters were thus drawing to a crisis, Clai- 
borne, with all a father’s anxiety, did not forget ts 
provide for the safety of his daughter. Stationed 
near to a close thicket of pines surmounting the 
brow of a neighboring hill, Helen Claiborne over- 
looked, with a shudder, the contemplated scene of 
action. 

The old nurse stood beside her ; all her usual 
volubility being dissipated by her present fears, or 
giving place to such ejaculations merely as — “ The 
Lord preserve us — See how they come !— More 
and more ! — Horsemen all ! — Ah me ! — War is a 
sad thing !” 

“ It is indeed a sorrowful sight, let who will 
win,” replied Helen ; “ and the more sorrowful, 
when men of the same nation, and speaking the 

same tongue, are arrayed against each other. 

Would to God, that some good friend would step 
between them, and enforce a peace. Master Oby, 
canst thou tell me the name of that noble looking 
gentlemari who is now riding along the front of 
the Proprietary troops V* 

“ Aye, marry can I ! Mistress Helen ; he is the 
father of the young springald, who so lately escaped 
us. Captain Cornwallis.” 

Helen changed color as the name was pro- 
nounced, and for a moment she leaned against a 
tree for support. ‘‘ Thus it is ever,” thought she, 
sadly, “ we have learned to reverence most all 
those whom we have, in these dismal times, most 
jeopardised. May heaven forgive me for the feeling, 
but I would it had been some other gentleman.” 

A sudden change in the disposition of the colonists 
now attracted her attention. “ They are moving 
to the attack— —is it not so 1” she inquired eagerly 
of Oby. 

“ Not yet,” said the man ; “only forming for it. 
See ! he is holding them in hand — look how stiffly 
each one of them settles himself in the saddle ! Ho 
now — listen.” 

The report of musketry from the centre, under 
Claiborne, caused his daughter to start, and cover 
her face with her hands. 

“ I dare not look. Master Oby,” she said ; “ and 
yet look down, I pray you. Who fired 1 are anv ' 
killed ?” ^ 

“ A few of the colonists falling back to the rear, 
that is all. Our musqueteers fired too high.” 

“And — and Captain Cornwallis'?” 


102 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


“ I cannot see him yet for the smoke. Aye, now | 
it clears. There is his plume rising above it — and | 
now I see himself at the head of his company, j 
bearing himself as bravely and steadily as an old 
time Paladin. Ha ! look at that long gleam of 
light ! They have unsheathed iheir swords, and 
are grasping tightly each his bridle rein — we shall 
have hot work anon.” 

“ May heaven have mercy on those who fall !” 
ejaculated the maiden. 

“ See ! the Indian arrows are now hurtling from 
bush and brake, but they glance harmless from j 
helm and cuirass. Bah ! they are but childish j 
things after all ; a buff doublet will oft times turn } 
them. Good ! good ! Another fire of musketry 
from the centre. Away, away good smoke, that I 
may see. Ha ! now they come.” 

“ They — who — who I” 

“ The enemy’s horsemen ; every sword point on a 
level along the line. They thunder down the hill, 
shouting for King and Calvert — on, on they rush — 
the river, it stops them not — their heads bent to 
their saddle bow ; they are plunging in. They are 
over, with a few empty saddles, Cornwallis in the 
lead. He points with his sword, and now they 
dash at Keintre. Ho, Lieutenant ! stand like a 
rock, or wo betide us ! On they dash — on and on, 
in defiance of our musketry — hold !” 

“ Why do you pause 1 — tell me all.” 

“I cannot see them for the smoke; but you may 
hear the shouts, and the sharp ring of many wea- 
pons. They are doubtless mingled together, and 
fighting hand to hand ; for the musketry has ceased, 
as if fearful of wounding our own people. It is 
getting clear, and now I see Keintre in the thickest 
of the fight. God of Heaven ! he is down ! — No, 
no — he rises ! — He spurs forward ! — Ha ! bravely 
struck — that makes one foe the less. He is dashing 
at Cornwallis ! See how their swords glint, and 
flash, and gleam. The men have fallen back on 
both sides, and are looking eagerly on. A good 
thrust, Keintre, and well parried. Well-a-day, there i 
is blood upon Keintre’s face. Courage, courage ; j 
he will yet conquer — Cornwallis reels under a storm i 
of blows; now he recovers, and becomes assailant. 
Ha ! a feint ; he has been husbanding his strength. 
Keintre falls back — falters, and now the clash of 
swords is ringing again, and all are mingled to- 
gether amid the uproar. One of our people gives 
way and flies. Bah ! let the knave go ; it is but 
one. How is this 1 — another, and another ! Mis- 
tress Helen, we have lost half the battle. Hear 
you the shouts and yells'? Our horsemen are scat- 
tered to the winds.” 

“ And my father 1 — tell me, oh tell me — what of 
my father 1” 

« The centre stands firm yet. The salvages have 
taken to the trees ; Cornwallis has turned again, 
and is now dashing upon the foot. Hark at the 
thunder of our pieces ! They are covered with 
smoke. Another volley — and again ; — well done — 
well done. The horsemen are reeling back in dis- 
order, and Cornwallis himself is wounded. See ! 
he binds his scarf about his arm ! His people 
crowd around him, and point to a place of safety. I 
lie smiles, shakes his head, and motions with his 
sword again toward the centre. Aye! shout on ! — { 
shout on ! it will avail you nothing. There they ' 


go, like the rush of a whirlwind. Again they are 
reeling back. The fire is too hot for them. Well 
done — well done — there is hope yet ; for I can see 
your father cheering on his men, and now some of 
Keintre’s horse are dropping towards the rear by 
twos and threes, and forming there. Courage ! 
brave hearts ! Courage — we shall beat them yet !” 

“ Victor or vanquished, it is equally fearful ; for 
the blood of our fellow men once shed, who can 
restore 1” , 

“ Lack-a-day ! lack-a-day !” exclaimed the nurse, 
pointing with her finger across to a distance, and 
who be they, I wonder, friends or foes “I” 

“ More of Claiborne’s men, I guess,” said Oby, 
looking thoughtfully. “ And yet that cannot be, 
either.” 

“ Perhaps Ingle’s people,” said Helen. 

“ No, they are none of Ingle’s,” he replied, 
gloomily. “ I see them well enough, now. They 
are the men we missed taking last night. The 
Captain sees them too, and, so does Cornwallis, for 
he beckons them to join him — they meet, and fall 
into line. Well, another charge will decide the 
fate of the day.” 

“And the chances 1” 

“ I must not calculate them. Mistress Helen,” 
said Oby ; who, having served with some distinc- 
tion in the wars of the Low Countries, began to 
be justly fearful of the result. “There is old Anas 
Todkill among the last comers,” he added ; “and 
well I know, what skill and courage can do, will be 
done wherever he is.” 

Helen now, with parted lips and a beating heart, 
gazed fearfully and anxiously towards the combat- 
ants. Her father — she saw her father, and was 
thankful he was yet living. He had formed his 
men into a square, and in this dense, compact mass 
he seemed resolved to meet the attack of the horse- 
men. The latter yet stood aloof, drawn up in line, 
silent, stern, and motionless. At a signal from 
Cornwallis, Trevor, the Ancient, and a few others, 
withdrew a little apart. 

“My good friends, ye are well met,’’ said the 
elder Cornwallis ; “ and by my faith, I think yon- 
der rebel hath but an indifl'erent hope of escape. — 
What say you, my doughty Ancient ?” 

“ Truly, sir, I think with you,” replied the An- 
cient; “and yet, if we could spare the further 
shedding of blood, it would rejoice me very much.” 

“ If this could be done consistent with our own 
honor, I think we should attempt it,” said Trevor. 
“ Doubtless many of these misguided men, seeing 
the strait in .which they are, and having but little 
hope of rescue, would gladly lay down their arms, 
and submit themselves to the mercy of the Gover- 
nor. At least, as men and Christians, we should 
make them the offer.” 

“ You speak my thoughts, gentlemen,” said the 
Commander, courteously. “ Ancient, to you and 
Trevor, I entrust this duty. Have we a flag here V* 

“ I can soon make one, so please you,” replied 
the old soldier, retiring. 

“ And the terms I” inquired Trevor. 

“ An unconditional surrender; to no other terms 
am I disposed to accede. His Excellency is just 
and kind ; and to him, and his council, belong the 
prerogatives of extending mercy, or of granting an 
entire pardon.” 


CLAIDORNE THE REBEL. 


103 


Of this conference between the officers of the 
Proprietary, Helen Claiborne, though at a great 
distance, had been an intensely interested specta- 
tor ; and when she saw the Ancient with a small 
white flag in his hand, she was at no loss to con- 
jecture what had been the subject of conversation. 
Hope now again rose in her breast. — Her father 
must surrender — she herself would implore the 
Governor in his behalf, and all yet might end, if 
not happily, at least under milder auspices than she 
could otherwise have expected. Full of these 
thoughts, she hastily drew out her tablets, and 
writing thereon — “ Father, surrender for my sake,” 
desired Oby to hasten with them to Claiborne. 
For a moment the man hesitated; but the im- 
ploring anguish of her look, and the words — “ Fear 
not, God will guard me,” induced him to depart on 
the errand, looking at her kindly, and muttering, 
as he strode down the hill — 

“ Well, if there be an angel on earth, it is 
Mistress Helen.” 

Meanw'hile, Trevor and the Ancient had ridden 
towards Claiborne, and many and confused were 
the sentiments of his followers as the two officers 
approached. Divining the cause of their coming, 
some were for immediately laying down their arms, 
others for fighting to the last — and these were by far 
the most numerous — for the tempting spoil of the 
city promised them by Claiborne, still induced them 
to prefer fighting to the last, in the hopes that 
something might yet befall that would retrieve their 
present doubtful fortunes. 

To these, Claiborne himself leaned. So, when 
Trevor and the Ancient approached, he stepped 
forward, and said, courtly — “ One word, sirs ; what 
would ye 1” 

“ Save ourselves from rashly shedding blood, 
Capt. Claiborne,” said Trevor, “ by accepting a 
surrender which, if enforced, you are in no condi- 
tion to resist.” 

“ Indeed !” replied Claiborne. “ Is our case in 
your eyes, then, so desperate 1 Pardon me, we 
have strong arms and stout hearts ; and desperate 
men, young sir, often achieve a desperate victory. 
Will you agree that we shall be free to go, if we 
lay down our armsi” 

“ I can agree to nothing,” said Trevor, coldly, 
« but an unconditional surrender. The rest must 
be left to the Governor, and his advisers.” 

“ I told you so,” said Claiborne, to some of the 
most prominent of his men. “ Did I not say they 
would draw our fangs, that they might crush us at 
their pleasure? With our weapons in our hands, 
we may yet come out safely ; without them, the 
meanest knave would triumph over us. — Fair sir, 
do your duty ; we are resolved to abide the issue 
as brave men should.” 

“ As rash men, not as brave men. Captain Clai- 
borne,” said the Ancient. 

“ Who shall judge between us. where bravery 
ends — rashness begins?” replied the leader, with a 
glowing smile. “ Enough, sirs; I have said my 
say. — Ha ! what do you here ? my daugh — speak ! 
— speak !” 

“ She is safe,” said Duke Oby, “ but enforced me 
bring you these.^^ 

Claiborne took the tablets, and as he read the 
few brief words, it was evident that for a moment 


he faltered ; for his cheeks grew ashy pale, his lips 
trembled, and in his eyes was a treacherous mois- 
ture. But he recovered himself by a strong effort, 
and turning again to Oby, said, slowly, though with 
a tinge of sadness, 

“It is too late, good Oby ; she knows not what 
she asks. Go to her, my trusty fellow, and say 
mine honor forbids it; and, hark ye! — ” he drew 
near, and sank his voice to a broken whisper — “ if — 
if all goes not well — if I — I — should we not meet 
after this charge — convey her, I pray you, with all 
speed into Virginia — she hath friends there — pro- 
mise me this. Thou wilt promise me this — I 
know thou wilt.” 

“That will I, sir, right dutifully,” replied Oby, 
drawing his rough hand across his eyes. 

“ In all honor?” said Claiborne, eagerly. 

“ With my life,” returned Oby. 

“ I will trust you,” replied Claiborne, grasping his 
hand. “And now, good Oby, get you away as 
quickly as possible, and see that if matters go 
wrong she bath a speedy conveyance from this 
place. Bear to her my loving regards, and bid 
her assist us with her prayers. — Now go.” 

Oby speedily returned ; and as he did so, Tre- 
vor, who had again conferred with his commander, 
rode up. 

“ Once more, sir,” said he, “ I beg you to con- 
sider your decision.” 

“ I have decided already,” said Claiborne. “ The 
sword is our only arbiter.” 

“So be it, sir,” replied the young soldier, and 
saluting him courteously, he returned to his post. 

When Duke Oby had reported Claiborne’s mes- 
sage to his daughter, with a sickening foreboding 
Helen made ready to depart ; for the sad issue was 
as certain in her mind as if her eyes had shudder- 
ingly beheld it. Mournful indeed had been the 
lot of this fair, pale young girl— mournful and 
eventful, yet not altogether unhappy; for there was 
ever a sustaining power within her, w’hich not all 
the misfortunes in the world could wholly overcome. 

Grateful for comfort received, she was yet re- 
signed under affliction ; and even now, though her 
heart was well nigh borne down with terrible and 
conflicting emotions, she yet applied herself, with 
a tremulous calmness, to take such measures as 
were in her judgment best calculated to meet the 
fearful exigency she anticipated. Thus prepared 
for the worst, she drew near the trembling nurse, 
and with a few words of cheerful import — though 
Heaven knows her own heart was sad enough — 
waited the encounter which was to decide her fate. 

Nor was she held long in suspense. — By the 
time Oby returned to his post, Claiborne had, by 
a quick movement, changed his position for one 
somewhat higher up the hill ; and in a square com- 
pactness, his adherents thus situated, prepared to 
resist the anticipated attack. 

Slowly and steadily came down the horsemen — 
slowly and steadily, with Cornwallis the elder at 
their head ; in close and even lines, as men 
practised in their fearful art, with their bright 
swords gleaming in the sun — slowly and steadily, 
in defiance of the arrows from concealed savages 
that now hurtled about them. As they came 
nearer, they broke into an easy trot ; and now, as 
if by a single inspiration, they burst out into a 


104 


CLAIBORNE THE REBEL. 


deafening cheer, and «rith their steel morions almost 
bent to their horses manes, charged fiercely, crush- 
ing down like an irresistible storm full upon their 
adversaries. In vain the volleyed musketry — in 
vain the cheering cry of Claiborne — in vain the 
frantic courage of his desperate followers. Men 
fell, and their places were filled ; the heaped up 
dead forming an imperfect barrier for the living — 
imperfect, for the horsemen, in their terrific charge, 
leaped the barrier of prostrate and writhing bodies, 
and smote, and slew, and were smitten, in the very 
midst. Still poured forth the sheeted fire and 
thunder of the musketry ; not now in volleys, as 
before, but each independent of his fellows, as he 
could find opportunity to load and discharge. 
Much of the sight of this was indeed lost to Duke 
Oby and his agonized charge, for a dense smoke 
covered the combatants as with a canopy ; but the 
cries and the yells — the shouts and the groans — 
the report of the fire-arms, and the clashing and 
the occasional gleaming of sword points above the 
cloud that shrouded the wielders, gave terrible 
tokens of the fierceness of the fray. Gradually the 
combat began to slacken — the firing to be less 
vigorous ; and through the smoke, now blown 
aside by occasional gusts of wind, the heaped up 
confusion of the fight became discernable. The 
array of Claiborne was broken, yet still he and 
his men fought on — fought on in very despe- 
ration — fought on as men, who, having staked their 
lives, would yet redeem them at the fearfulest of 
hazards — fought on, but more and more hopelessly. 
One dropped from them, and flying down the hill, 
hid himself in the thick growth of the marsh. A 
second followed him ; and though their defection 
seemed not to be missed, a growing fear infused 
itself among those who were nearest the fugitives. 
A third, a fourth, and then all at once, with the 
rapid contagion which sudden panic gives, the 
whole mass of rebels shattered into fragments; and 
with scarcely two remaining together, hurried 
hither and thither, in hopeless and irremediable 
rout. Some ‘fled to the morass, some to the hill, 
and some across ; and though Claiborne threatened 
— intreated — implored, he was borne along, unable 
to extricate himself, or bring them again to a stand. 
As he cast one agonizing glance towards the hill, 
he saw his daughter and her attendants preparing 
to mount; and with a deep and bitter self-accusa- 
tion, he disappeared among the bushes, striking 
towards the route which he presumed they had 
taken. Fortunately, another had, in the confusion, 
been mistaken for himself, and he was thus enabled 
the more readily to quit the field which had been 
BO fatal to his rising hopes. And so ended the re- 
bellion of William Claiborne. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

Of the characters, who have moved and spoken 
before the reader, in this our eventful story, a few 
words will be sufficient to explain their future for- 
tunes. 

Amid the rejoicings held by the good people of 
St, Mary’s, in commemoration of their deliverance, 
two weddings took place, which were honored 



by the attendance of almost the entire population 
of the city. Trevor received the hand, and with it 
the entire heart of gentle Mary Branthwayte; and 
Amy Roberts, resolving to hold fast to her restored 
lover, bestowed herself the same day upon Ralph 
Forster, the Ancient being in both instances a de- 
lighted and most welcome guest. 

The return of the younger Cornwallis operated 
very seasonablv it) a partial restoration of his health. 
His overjoyed father receiving him as one restored 
from the dead, once more took Arthur into favor ; 
and, when Neenah had received such imperfect 
education as the state of the Colony could give, 
Arthur, with the consent of his father, and the 
approbation of the Governor, received her as his 
wife, and a devoted and loving wife she became to 
him all his days, and their descendants, joyous, 
worthy people, still reside in St. Mary’s and the 
neighboring counties. 

The turbulent, John Dandie, together with other 
of the more prominent conspirators, remained in 
close confinement until the change took place in 
the government of the Colony, of which we shall 
presently speak. 

After the fatal charge upon Claiborne’s small 
party of horse, Keintre was never heard of. He was 
seen to falter, wounded from the field, and is sup- 
posted to have died unknown in some remote part 
of the forest. 

Ingle’s men were tried and convicted as pirates, 
and Daunton and two others hung. The remain- 
der continued in prison until the change in the 
government. 

Leonard Calvert, thus freed from his enemies, 
now looked forward to a long period of uninter- 
rupted peace ; but, as soon as Cromwell obtained 
the ascendency in England, that remarkable man 
despatched a brief, unceremonious letter, command- 
ing Leonard Calvert to immediately transfer his 
authority into the hands of William Claiborne; and 
thus, the latter, who had escaped to Virginia, and 
held the situation at Jamestown of Colonial Sec- 
retary, achieved at last the object of his ambition ; 
holding it for about two years, when the governor- 
ship was again transferred to the family of the, 
Calverts. 

For her, the last, the best, the fairest, the purest 
of them all. The dear child of his wanderings, 
the loved one of his heart, a brighter and happier 
future gradually opened. The good she had done 
in secret became known throughout the Colony. 
The noble heart of the elder Cornwallis so yearned 
towards her, for her kindness towards his son, that, 
at the instance of Eustace, and of the promptings 
of his own generous nature, he willing’y consented 
that Helen should become the bride of his son. 
But, true to her father, she resolved to abide with 
him while in adversity, and so meekly but reso- 
lutely declined, what she at the same time confes- 
sed to be the dearest wish of her heart. But, 
when Claiborne was appointed Governor, she im- 
mediately consented to become the wife of Eustace, 
and so ministered to his feeble strength, that, 
although never fully restored to health, he yet 
lived for many years, and both of them were of 
such serene and gentle hearted dispositions, that to 
be as happy as Eustace and Helen Cornwallis, 
became at length a proverb among the colonists. 







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